Brothers in Arms
by mangochi
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission, really. There was nothing on their radar that had given them the notion to expect otherwise. For James T. Kirk, however, nothing ever seemed to go as planned.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey there, so this is my first request/collab fic done with the lovely Warrior717 featuring our favorite space triumvirate. This is quite a bit different from my usual MO (expect no slashing here, friends) and we both hope that you'll enjoy this merry buddy adventure. :) :) :) Reviews and feedback are much welcome, as always, and indeed greatly encouraged, so knock yourselves out.**

**Also, this takes place after Into Darkness :) Five-year mission shenanigans and all that.**

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~Chapter I~

"Damn it, Jim!" McCoy exploded, glaring at the tricorder. He waved it closer to Jim's torso, as if trying to physically force the readings to change, the vein in his temple throbbing stressfully with every intermittent beep that emitted from the device.

"How bad is it?" Jim asked anxiously, the hem of his shirt still tucked between his chin and chest. Spock hovered at his side, scrutinizing the small, circular protuberance above Jim's sternum with a scientific intensity that slightly unnerved Jim. He could feel the disk pressing uncomfortably against his chest with every nervous heartbeat, something that did not belong in his body but was distinctly there, lodged just underneath his skin.

"Bad," McCoy said shortly, lowering the tricorder. He pushed up the sleeves of his black undershirt irritably, the fabric clinging to his slightly damp forearms. The air here was still, the desert heat seeping through the very walls. McCoy and Jim had shed their outer shirts long since, and McCoy, claiming that the sight of Spock still fully dressed despite the heat disturbed him, ordered the first officer to remove his as well, ignoring the Vulcan's mild protests that he was well acclimated to such temperatures.

Jim sighed resignedly, rolling his shirt back down gingerly over his chest before absently running his hand over the tender area, feeling his heartbeat push the small disk against his palm with every pulse. "So what's the verdict, doc?"

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting bitterly at the floor. "It's a bomb."

Jim stared, jaw slack. Funny, he'd thought McCoy had just said that there was _a bomb _in his chest. "Come again?" Maybe he had heard wrong, though the plummeting of his stomach told him otherwise.

McCoy ran a hand up his face, distractedly tugging at his own hair. "Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know we were going to be ambushed by a group of lethal terrorists?" Jim retorted, feeling a sting of unfairness. After all, the doctor hadn't exactly vetoed the mission at the time. None of them had, in the beginning.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, really. There was nothing on their radar that had given them the notion to expect otherwise. For James T. Kirk, however, nothing ever seemed to go as planned, and he probably should have known better than to expect any different. After Starfleet received an unusual stress call from a planet they had previously believed to be abandoned by Klingons, the _Enterprise_ warped into duty to investigate the strange occurrence. The call had only been an isolated event, yet they had substantial reason to believe it was legitimate in its urgency.

The initial plan was relatively clear from the beginning, despite the muck it had swiftly become. Jim had easily and perhaps all too predictably, chosen Commander Spock, Doctor McCoy, and himself to beam down to the planet's surface to investigate. Though the three naturally proceeded with caution, none of them had thought the situation to be threatening by any means, and believed that the investigation would most likely involve very few inhabitants.

A shuttle, filled with essential and emergency medical resources, would remain on standby aboard the _Enterprise_, and would only be permitted to land by captain's orders upon confirmation that the situation was clear. Unfortunately though, to the consternation of every waiting personnel aboard the ship, that moment never came.

As soon as they beamed onto the surface, blinking into the glaring sunlight, Jim had felt the prickling sensation of hidden eyes lingering on him. When the spots had finally faded from his vision, he had looked around, taking in the wasteland around him, and realized, with a jolt of chilling trepidation, that the scene looked all too familiar for his liking.

The ground was dry and cracked beneath his feet, its rusty surface striped with the dark shadows of the towering ruins scattered across the otherwise barren land. They rose in crumbled spires and unformed mounds, black empty windows like hollow eyes in the sloping walls. It had been a magnificent city once, Jim suspected, though it was no more. He could see a dip where a fountain could have once stood, a scattering of cobbles where a white street used to wind, alleys and passages where children might have once ran and laughed and climbed the spiraling towers**. **It was a beautiful, though haunting sight, and it was difficult for Jim to envision the Klingon civilization that had once thrived here long ago.

But there were no children here now, no silvery laughter in the scorching wind, no clear water in the fountains. Jim blinked the powdery dust from his eyes, which lingered in the air much like the planet's harrowing past, and turned back to the shuttle. McCoy was huddling miserably in the shade of a jutting chunk of wall, peering ill-manneredly around like some sort of peeved, heat-intolerant turtle. "It's hot," he snarled, when Jim looked askance.

"I find the temperature most satisfactory," Spock remarked mildly, straightening from where he had been examining the remains of a long-shattered urn. He did look comfortable, Jim supposed, not a drop of sweat on his face, and his pupils undilated by the blinding sunlight. But it wasn't as if Vulcans sweated anyway, and Spock's cool exterior was starting to seriously peeve Jim.

"Come on, Bones," Jim chided, trying to look as if the heat wasn't starting to get to him, too. "We've got a job to do."

"There's no one here," McCoy said grumpily. "Not a damn soul, and I don't blame them. I vote we quit now and get the hell out of Dodge while we still can."

"We just got here." Jim tried hard not to sound exasperated. He knew how much McCoy hated the transporter. "Might as well look around a bit."

With a long-suffering sigh, McCoy dragged himself to his feet, scowling. "All right, let's get this over with. Spock, come here, at least let me stand in your shade…."

The three of them wandered through the ravaged city, one of them occasionally pointing out a particular point of interest. Spock and McCoy stopped intermittently to perform a scan or collect a sample, leaving Jim awkwardly dithering behind them. When McCoy narrowly avoided stepping on a large insect-like crustacean, emitting a high-pitched shriek, Spock insisted that they stop and capture the specimen for closer observation. This mostly consisted of McCoy standing on a rock and pointing wildly while Spock scrambled around determinedly.

Jim was watching the spectacle with no small amusement when he heard the sound. It was a quiet clatter, like clacking stones. He looked around curiously and saw nothing but the rough walls of the surrounding buildings, the reddish dust so worn into the grain of the stone itself until he could no longer tell where the dirt ended and where the original color began. By the time he decided it was nothing, he heard the sound again, in a slightly different direction.

He glanced back at his friends, the two of them still absorbed in their quest for the terrified bug-thing. _They can handle themselves_, he reasoned. _It'll just be a second_…

The memory of hidden eyes gave him pause for a few seconds. _It was nothing_, he decided. _You're getting to be paranoid like Bones_. The planet was abandoned, after all. There was no one here to watch them, and if those invisible eyes belonged to whoever had sent the distress signal, why had they not revealed themselves? He would take a quick look and be back before McCoy and Spock even noticed he was gone. And if something did happen...well, he could take care of himself as well as anyone.

With that firmly in mind, Jim slipped around the corner and padded off in the direction of the peculiar sound. He heard another distant shout from McCoy and an exasperated response from Spock in turn. And there was the noise still, louder this time, almost insistent. Curiosity mounting, he turned the corner, and found himself practically toe-to-toe with a cold-eyed man in light-colored, rather hodgepodge fatigues.

He had reeled back, mouth opening to emit a startled shout, when he had felt a shocking jolt in the center of his back, more of a numbing force than pain, and everything had gone black.

He woke in phases, his consciousness surging and receding on the tides of awareness. Blurry voices and hazy words drifting so mercurially through his mind that he wasn't sure half the time if he had dreamed them. Pieces of sentences ebbed with the rising and falling of distant, prickling sensation. A tickle on his chest, a strange throbbing in his ears-

"…_.careful with that..."_

"_...Starfleet scum..."_

His head hurt, but that wasn't all that hurt. His chest ached, something was wrong with...with his...he couldn't breathe, couldn't see-

"…_.he's in AF rhythm...gotta...back on__..."_

Something cool and slick against his chest, tingling where it touched his skin. A mumbling voice fading into incoherency...

"…_.signal...when he wakes..."_

"…_clear!..."_

A dull jolt that shuddered through his body, his heels smacking against a firm surface.

"…_still irregular….Again!..."_

Another jolt, his spine arching up before falling back, and everything was mercifully dark once more.

He had woken in blackness, a prickling throbbing over his chest that itched every time his shirt brushed against his skin. Jim groaned and rolled over….or tried. His limbs were held down to a hard surface with what felt like thick straps over his wrists and ankles. He had heard sounds of fighting from what sounded like the next room over, the humming of phasers and muffled, cut-off shouts.

Then Spock kicked down the door, phaser in hand, looking so much like the hero from the sort of juvenile action films Jim used to watch as a kid that he had to fight back a hysterical guffaw at the sight of the Vulcan silhouetted against the bright light from the corridor. Like some kind of caped crusader.

"I guess this makes me the princess," he croaked, a grin twitching at his lips.

"Captain!" Spock rushed forward instantly, reaching for the leather cuffs that kept Jim flat on the operating table. Behind him in the corridor, Jim saw a figure fly backwards out of sight with a surprised grunt and heard a slightly crazed voice shouting from a distance, "Take that, you muscle-bound Neanderthal!"

"Is that Bones?" he asked, amusement battling with concern for his friend.

"The doctor is, surprisingly, a good shot," Spock murmured distractedly, still fumbling with the restraints. With a small noise of satisfaction, he succeeded in undoing the cuffs on Jim's ankles and moved over to begin on the wrists. He jostled a boxy machine on a mobile cart with his leg as he moved, sending it rattling away a short distance. It was a defibrillator, Jim noticed distantly- an older model with paddles that he hadn't seen other than in basic training at the Academy.

The restraints on Jim's wrists fell away and he pushed himself up to a sitting position with a pained groan, popping his neck with a jerking shrug. "That's better," he grunted, rolling his shoulders again. He glanced up at his first officer, then froze, startled. His eyes widened as he looked over Spock's shoulder and saw the man positioned in the doorway**,** leveling a phaser rifle with an unmistakable intent. But it wasn't that alone that caused Jim's heart to nearly skip a beat, but that the rifle was aimed directly at-

"Spock!" Jim was launching off the table before his mind had quite caught up, catching Spock around the waist and knocking him down as the man fired. They both toppled over onto the floor, Jim rolling off Spock's chest with a breathless grunt. The shot went through the space where Spock had been standing a mere second ago, hitting the defibrillator with an ominous sparking sound and a great deal of smoke.

There was a muffled curse and a scuffle at the door as the terrorist raised his rifle again, but before he could fire, Spock grabbed his phaser and spun around on his back in one swift motion, shooting the man in the chest with an almost casual ease. Their assailant grunted and fell forward with a thump, his rifle clattering across the floor.

Spock rose smoothly to his feet a moment later, sliding his phaser back into his belt. "Thank you, Captain."

"Don't mention it," Jim wheezed, pulling himself up by the edge of the operation table and taking stock of his physical condition automatically. There was a tender spot on his elbow where he had landed on the floor, and his chest hurt, a sort of pulsing pain that prodded oddly at his sternum. He passed a hand over his torso absently and winced at the sudden stab of pain a few inches beneath his collarbone. He looked down at himself, surprised. "What the-"

Spock's hand was moving before Jim's brain could register it, gripping the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up to his shoulders in one fluid movement.

"Whoa, there, what-"

"Jim," Spock said with a terrifying calmness, his eyes fixed steadily on Jim's bare chest. "What is that?"

Jim cringed self-consciously, brushing Spock's hand aside so he could peer down at his own chest. "Oh, shit."

There was a short, jagged incision scar above his sternum, the new skin gleaming white where it was obvious a dermal regenerator had recently passed over it. Just under and slightly to the side of the scar was a slight bump. It was roughly the size and shape of a poker chip, protruding barely enough out from under Jim's skin for him to tell that something was very wrong.

It was then that McCoy appeared, panting and covered in sweat. He raised his phaser grimly, a still slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes. "The suckers," he huffed. "Never saw me coming."

"Yeah, who'd look twice at a middle-aged couch slouch like you, Bones?" Jim joked lightly, a trigger reflex after all these years. He opened his mouth again, intending to inform McCoy of the dangers of a growing paunch, when Spock efficiently stepped in.

"Doctor, the captain appears to have a foreign implant."

"What?" McCoy dropped the phaser immediately and hurried forward, stepping over the prone man in the doorway gingerly and elbowing Spock aside in his haste to reach Jim. He reached out and gently probed at the disk, even that slight movement sending an uncomfortable surge up Jim's spine. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Jim forced through gritted teeth. "Not really."

McCoy leaned back, rummaging in the medkit strapped at his waist. "Hold on, I'll need to scan-"

"Bones, it can wait," Jim said impatiently. "What the hell happened out there?!" He gestured at the corridor, where he could still see the legs of the man that McCoy had sent flying.

The doctor readily ignored him, fishing out his tricorder and passing it obsessively over Jim's torso. Jim tried to ignore the erratic beeping from the device, looking instead to his first officer for answers.

"You were kidnapped, Jim," Spock supplied helpfully.

"Yes, thank you, Spock-"

"That damn bug," McCoy grumbled, without looking up. "After we caught the wretched thing, we turned around and you were gone. Spock tracked down your communicator signal like some sort of bloodhound, and we followed you here."

"The ship-"

"We've been trying to contact her since you disappeared." McCoy's grim expression told Jim everything he needed to know about how well that had gone. That, or he was simply frowning at the results on his tricorder screen, which wasn't a much better conclusion.

"The hostiles must possess a jamming device here," Spock said. "Our best course of action would be to locate it and attempt to reverse its effects before more time passes."

Jim's head snapped up in sudden realization. "More time? How long has it been?"

"We've been on this damn planet for, what, two days now, I think?" McCoy hedged, glancing questioningly at Spock.

"You have been missing for twenty-six hours and thirty-four minutes, Jim," Spock said. "Locating you became substantially more….challenging when your signal disappeared. We can only assume that the terrorists destroyed your communicator upon realizing that the locator was still fully functional." Now it was McCoy's turn to jerk in shock. "What? Who said anything about terrorists?"

Spock furrowed his brows quizzically at McCoy, as if perfectly surprised that the doctor hadn't come to the same natural conclusion as he had. "Of course, Doctor. Judging by the non-standard issue of the hostiles' technology and armament, as well as their...extreme methods of avoiding further questioning, one can only assume that they were not dispatched by any legitimate government. That, paired with the fact that they kidnapped the captain-" his voice had delved into a dryer tone that would have been considered sarcastic from anyone else, "-naturally, we can safely conclude that these must be vigilantes intent on damaging the Federation." _Idiot,_ his eyebrow said.

Jim, struggling to filter through that particularly thick onslaught of technicality, felt a sudden need to backtrack a couple of steps. A lot of steps, really. "Hold up, _what?_ What extreme methods?"

Spock and McCoy exchanged a solemn look, the latter seemingly attempting to prompt the former into answering through increasingly non-subtle visual cues. When Spock did nothing more than look at him patiently, McCoy turned back to Jim, a muscle in his jaw tensing as he responded, "Some of them got away, Jim. They must have had a shuttle stashed away somewhere. We didn't even see it until it shot over our heads. The ones they left behind are out there-" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the hallway. "They were alive when I stunned them, I swear, but when I checked afterwards..." he trailed off, shaking his head in disgust. "What kind of resolve does a man have to have to kill himself like that?"

"Whatever it is, I'm willing to bet they have a lot of it," Jim said grimly. "If they were against Starfleet, they'd never let themselves be captured. Not if they thought they'd be interrogated."

There was a short pause. Jim suddenly had a very bad feeling about whatever had been shoved inside his chest. "But what would a group of terrorists have against Starfleet?"

"No organization exists that does not have at least a few enemies," Spock said mildly. "Especially an organization holding as much intergalactic influence as Starfleet."

Jim rolled his eyes. "If you don't know, just say so."

"Do _you _know?" McCoy asked suddenly, eyeing Jim with sudden interest. "They had you here for almost a whole day- did they say anything?"

Jim frowned, struggling to recall the hazy bits of memory. It was like trying to remember a forgotten dream, a blurry half-dissolved recollection that refused to be completely grasped. "It's….kind of weird," he said slowly, squinting in concentration. "They said a few things, I think, but nothing that made sense." His eyes drifted over to the defibrillator on the cart, still feebly coughing smoke, and remembered the cool slickness against his chest, the hard jolt shuddering through his body. "They might have used _that_, I think I remember…."

Two pairs of eyes turned to regard the damaged machine. There was a short pause before McCoy boiled over. "So you're saying they used that piece of old-generation crap on you?"

"Pardon my unfamiliarity, Doctor," Spock interjected, "but what reason could they have for utilizing outdated equipment?"

McCoy shrugged dismissively. "Could be they're trying to make a point. There's lots of manic knuckleheads running around these days spouting 'the old way's the better way' and all that."

Jim raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Really. But why argue for inferior technology when clearly the new is better?"

"I'm a doctor, kid, not a philosopher. Who knows why the hell they think that? Maybe that's their beef with Starfleet, us being the leading-edge in developmental technology and whatnot. Or they might just prefer the old-school techniques. You'd be surprised at how many doctors still use variations of this stuff, really….But _that_," McCoy jerked his chin disdainfully at the defibrillator, "that specific model is practically Stone Age material."

"Doctor, to propose that the device dates back to the Stone Age is a gross overstate-"

McCoy interrupted impatiently, "Don't you have a ship to contact?"

Spock bent his head dutifully, fiddling with his communicator with a concentrated tilt of his head.

"What I'd like to know," McCoy continued, frowning contemplatively, "is why it needed to be used in the first place. Back then, it was the go-to method for stabilizing an irregular cardiac rhythm, but why-"

"Irregular rhythm?" Jim interrupted.

"Yea. Some can be fatal, and unless they're shocked back into a normal heart rhythm in time...regardless, the method was never fail proof." McCoy looked curiously at him. "What, do you remember something?"

There was something nagging at the edge of Jim's mind, pulling insistently, but when he tried to grasp it, it slid away into obscurity. Something...a hazy voice...something about rhythm...

Jim shook his head after a short pause. "No. No, it's probably nothing."

McCoy eyed him suspiciously, looking ready to question him again, but Spock cut in opportunely.

"Communications are still down," he informed them, "though I believe that we will be able to reestablish contact with the ship once the jamming device depletes its energy cells."

"And how long would that take?" McCoy demanded.

Spock's brow creased slightly in concentration, no doubt running multiple calculations simultaneously in his mind. "I would not put it at less than one hour."

"Then we've got time," McCoy said briskly, gesturing at Jim. "Pull your shirt up- you're gonna need a _thorough _scan."

It had been fifteen minutes now since Spock's estimate, and the three of them were still here, standing in the same dismal room he had woken in. Eventually things had calmed down as much as could be expected in this situation, once the shock of discovering the bomb had worn off.

"I _knew _it was a bad idea," McCoy repeated, shaking his head.

"Hey, now-"

"Doctor, the bomb?" Spock prompted impatiently. He was probably, Jim realized ruefully, the only completely sane voice left in the room. Jim felt strangely detached himself, even in the current predicament, though he supposed it was only reasonable. It wasn't as if he was needed, really. A captain could always be replaced, just as his own father and Pike had been. And death, it seemed, had always been just around the corner for him. After all, he'd died once already...

The cold surface of the tricorder sliding against his chest made him flinch, his thoughts dispersing instantly.

"As far as I can tell, it's running directly off your heart," McCoy was saying, eyes glued to his tricorder. "And for whatever reason, it's not functioning. Gotta admit, it's all pretty clever."

"Not functioning," Jim repeated somewhat questionably. "So we've got some time to figure this out, then."

McCoy waved a hand impatiently. "Sure, the safety's on, so to speak. And it means we're not in any danger of the device self-destructing…..at least not yet," McCoy added darkly, seemingly unable to resist the pessimistic conclusion.

"The doctor is correct. It is likely that the terrorists programmed a failsafe into the device as a means to ensure eventual detonation, should their initial plan not succeed," Spock confirmed.

"In this case, they could have planned to do it remotely," McCoy added speculatively.

Jim stared at him, mind racing. "So what you're saying is we don't know when this fail safe will be activated, or how, for that matter."

"Affirmative, Captain."

McCoy frowned, adding, "And since we don't want to end up blowing the crew up sky high when the _Enterprise_ does come for us, we have no choice but to remove the damn thing ourselves-"

"How do you propose that we do this, Doctor?" Spock interrupted.

The older man sighed, raising a hand to rub at his temple in concentration. "The only reason this thing is still running is because it's hooked up to Jim's ticker. There's no way to get it out until it's disabled, but there's no way we can do that without-"

"Stopping my heart," Jim realized suddenly, looking between McCoy and Spock with a foreboding lurch in his stomach. "You'd have to stop my heart."

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guyyyys. Thanks so much for commenting and faving and following and being generally awesome. We'd love to know what you guys think about this chapter as well, so drop a review at your leisure :) Thanks!**

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~Chapter II~

_"Stopping my heart," Jim realized suddenly, looking between McCoy and Spock with a foreboding lurch in his stomach. "You'd have to stop my heart."_

..

Spock's head turned sharply to regard him, eyes narrowing slightly at the revelation. There was a heavy beat of silence, practically audible in its solemnity. McCoy's mouth snapped shut with a distinct click, and he looked at Jim warily. "Now, let's not jump to conclusions."

"No, that's it." Jim was starting to feel a stir of optimism. Finally, they had something to work with. All they needed now was to know how to do it. He paced a couple of steps back and forth, thoughts racing. "We can't just take it out without risking an immediate detonation; the terrorists are too clever for that. So we've got to disable it, first, right? Remove it from its power source, in this case, my heartbeat. If the bomb can be disabled by basically turning off my heart, then we just need to-" he stopped midstep, turning to McCoy and considering him for a moment. "I mean, you could do it right? You've got some sort of drug or something in your medkit that you could use?"

"Whether I do or not is beside the point, Jim," McCoy said impatiently. "The _point _is that-"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

"You can't just go around turning off your heart!" McCoy exploded. "There's rules about this kind of thing, you know! This isn't like holding your breath or whatever fool thing you're imagining this to be. This is- this is suicide!"

"Temporarily." Jim corrected.

"What?" McCoy blinked, caught off guard.

"It'd only be temporary, Bones. After all, you _do_ plan to bring me back, right?" Jim asked lightly, a slight, unbidden smirk touching the corners of his mouth.

"By all means, if you think it's that simple," McCoy said impatiently, his eyebrows creasing. "Damn it, Jim, there's a lot of things to consider here."

Jim huffed in exasperation. "Enlighten me."

"Well, as if your heart hasn't been shocked enough already today, we'd need to do it again to bring you back, Jim." McCoy frowned. "Only this time, we'll be restarting your heart from zero, not just nudging at the speedometer. To do that, we'll need a cardiostimulator, and unfortunately, they're all aboard the resource shuttle or in the medbay. Now," he patted the medkit at his waist, "I've got epinephrine on hand, and there's a chance it'll work, but, well, considering your history with hypos before…there's just no way of knowing all the risks."

"The doctor is correct in his assumptions, Captain," Spock said quietly. McCoy looked almost startled at the interruption, as if he had forgotten Spock was even there. Either that, or he was simply surprised at the Vulcan's unexpected support. "The potential harm to your well-being can not be ignored."

"I'm not ignoring them, I'm…. I just can't let them get in my way," Jim argued, frustratingly aware of the feebleness of his position. "Look, we all know this thing is going to go off one way or another once the failsafe activates so, if getting it out means-"

"And what if we can't get you back?" McCoy demanded. "What then?"

"If it means it'll at least save your lives, it's worth the risk."

"And what about you, Jim? Doesn't your own life mean anything to you?"

Jim didn't answer, his gaze set firmly on the floor. McCoy watched him with growing alarm, then glanced at Spock, sharing a moment of mutual concern.

"So what are you saying, Bones?" Jim spoke up suddenly, giving a short laugh that was void of any mirth. "That we've got no other options? If you won't take the risks, then I want you and Spock to get as far from me as you can, because I'm _not_ bringing you down with me."

Both McCoy and Spock opened their mouths at the same time, but McCoy beat him to it. "Forget about it, Jim, that's not going to happen."

Jim opened his mouth to object, but McCoy put up his hand, cutting him off. "And…there is another option."

"What?" Jim demanded, his eyes brightening despite his confusion. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"It's a...traditional method, you might say," McCoy said reluctantly.

Jim stared at him for a perplexed moment before realization dawned. He nodded his head emphatically, trying to get Spock's attention, then pointed at McCoy and mouthed helpfully to the Vulcan, "He means CPR." He accompanied the message with vague pushing motions away from his chest, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Spock mirrored the expression, intrigued by the exaggerated pantomime, and McCoy rolled his eyes in annoyance at the both of them.

"You gits. I take it, then, that you two know the basics of _cardiopulmonary resuscitation_, right? Compressions, Breathing, Airway, all that?"

Spock tilted his head slightly towards the doctor, a suspicious twitch at the corner of the mouth as he responded, "It is a prerequisite certification in basic interspecies medical training courses offered at the Academy."

"Smartass," McCoy muttered sourly. "Do you know it or not?"

"I am well-versed in the technique," Spock responded succinctly. They both turned to eye Jim.

"What? I know CPR!" Jim protested, looking wounded. "Really, Bones, I'm offended that you would think-"

"Wouldn't be the first time you've gotten out of something medically required." McCoy pointed out, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Oh, please, that's different," Jim said dismissively. "Do you know how scary you are with those hypos?"

McCoy cleared his throat meaningfully, "Do you have any idea how many physicals you've-"

"Bones, trust me, I took the class."

This only gave McCoy slight pause before he bellowed right on. "Then you both know it won't be easy, _especially_ considering the fact that we don't even know how long we'll have to keep it up before the _Enterprise_ reaches us!"

"Won't be a problem." Jim said confidently.

McCoy paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

Jim gestured meaningfully at his first officer. "Well, we've got Spock, don't we? And with Vulcans being three times stronger than humans-"

"You would know," McCoy muttered.

"Shut up," Jim said somewhat irritably, but there was a slight fondness there as well. He turned to Spock. "So does that include endurance as well?"

"Indeed, Captain," Spock responded warily.

Jim looked back at McCoy with enthusiasm. "See, he could keep up with the compressions for as long as we need it. And when you think about it, it won't be much different from being on life support, manually speaking."

McCoy looked thoroughly unconvinced, scowling first at Spock and then at Jim. "Sure he could keep it up, but even if I can fix you up when we get back on the ship- considering how long this could go on, that's still going to be one hell of a beating on you, Jim."

Jim became suddenly conscious of the fact that Spock was staring intently at him from where he stood quietly behind McCoy, and looked away uneasily. The small movement inexplicably sent the world spinning for a brief, disorienting moment, and he rubbed his eyes uncertainly. "Yeah, I've got a good idea," he said vaguely.

McCoy frowned, concerned. "You okay there?"

Jim wavered on his feet slightly before dropping his hand from his face, blinking his eyes rapidly as he tried to focus on his surroundings, "It's nothing. Just a bit lightheaded for a moment," he said finally, looking up and meeting their questioning gazes before adding a little too quickly, "So, I guess we should get this started then, right?"

McCoy gave Jim a hard look, then stepped forward, taking out his tricorder and scanning Jim once more.

Jim rolled his eyes in exasperation, trying not to grimace at the pounding black spots behind his eyes at the movement. "Oh come on, Bones. I already told you, it was noth-"

"Sit," McCoy ordered sharply, pointing to the operating table. Jim scowled, but reluctantly obeyed, kicking his legs out from the table nervously.

Spock stepped to the table as McCoy continued scanning, observing the process with a clinical interest.

Something caught McCoy's attention, and he frowned, eyebrows furrowing together in concentration as he fiddled with the volume control of the tricorder. Two loud beeps could now be heard emitting from the device.

"What's that?" Jim finally asked.

McCoy responded with a question of his own, giving Jim a pointed glance-over. "How are you feeling right now?"

"I feel fine," Jim said, with no small amount of annoyance.

McCoy performed an impressive rendition of Spock's eyebrow tilt, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

Jim sighed. "I feel a little tired, but that's it. I swear."

"Still feeling dizzy?" McCoy prompted.

Jim paused, taking stock of himself. "No," he answered honestly.

McCoy sighed, scrubbing a hand nervously over his face before looking between Spock and then Jim. "Well, that first beeping sound you heard, that's your heart. You're in what's called Atrial Fibrillation. Don't ask me how or why, because I can't answer that. But what it means is that your heart isn't beating the way it's supposed to."

"And the source of the second alert?" Spock asked persistently.

McCoy glanced at Jim briefly, his eyes flicking to him and back to Spock so quickly that Jim wasn't even sure if he had caught it. "I didn't want to say just yet..." he hedged reluctantly, "but I think that was the failsafe activating."

Jim stared incredulously for a moment, then couldn't help but exclaim, "And you didn't think that was, I don't know, _important_?"

McCoy flared right back, "Because I knew you'd react like this! Now listen, we can stop it, but we'll have to move fast. So let's get started." He paused for a moment and looked at Jim's shirt pointedly. "And you'll have to take that off."

Jim hesitated for a second, then slowly grinned and stood, hands ready at the hem of his shirt, but was unable to resist a final shot. "If that's how you like it."

McCoy snorted with reluctant amusement. "You may be easy on the eyes, kid, but you ain't my type."

Jim leaned back against the table casually. "Oh? Then what-"

"If," Spock said acidly, "you two would not mind postponing your discussion of human courtship protocol, I believe we are on a schedule?"

McCoy glanced at Jim and shook his head fondly, then began fumbling in his medkit, pulling out a capped hypospray.

"What's that?" Jim asked warily, eyeing the hypospray with distaste.

"Something I hoped I'd never have to use," McCoy sighed. "Of course, it figures it'd have to be on you."

"How much time do we have left?" Jim asked.

"About twenty minutes, but we still have to hurry. Now take it off already."

Jim promptly pulled up the hem of his shirt, grimacing as the scar over his chest tugged uncomfortably. He had the garment pulled halfway over his head before something suddenly struck him. And like all impetuous ideas, it struck hard. "Wait," he said, pausing.

"Jim, we don't have time for this-"

"No, listen," Jim said, his excitement mounting as he pulled his shirt back down. "You said I was in AF?"

McCoy squinted at him impatiently, "Atrial Fibrillation, yeah, why?"

"They said something about it. The terrorists, I mean." It was coming back now, the blurry mumbles in the background of his memory snapping briefly into white clarity. "Before they shocked me."

"Well, of course. Your heartbeat was normal when I first scanned you," McCoy said, nonplussed. "But the defibrillator's shot now. Literally. So if you're suggesting we shock you back to-"

"Look, the fail safe was only activated when the AF started, right? So we know they're somehow linked. Well… what if there's another way to fix it?" Jim persisted. "Another way to do this without having to stop my heart now?"

"What are you going on about?"

"We cheat the system." Jim was unable to hold back his triumphant grin, looking from McCoy to Spock. "We trick the bomb."

"Jim," McCoy said, looking like he was at his wit's end. "Damn it, man, make some sense here."

"Come on, Bones, don't you see? We can use compressions to throw off the AF, since that seems to be the only rhythm the fail safe can pick up on, right?"

"I see. The captain does raise a logical point," Spock said suddenly, his head tilting slightly in consideration. "You are suggesting that we attempt to correct your cardiac rhythm by simulating an alternative pace through manual means in order to delay the fail safe."

"Exactly." Jim nodded and looked around at McCoy expectantly.

The doctor looked pensive, his frown deepening. "You know, you'd have to be sedated for this, Jim. I'm not fully equipped for that kind of procedure down here."

"I can do it without."

"No, you damn well can't," McCoy retorted. "Not without decent pain relief that we don't have!"

"It's not a big deal, Bones, really." Jim pointed at himself. "Crazy high pain tolerance, remember?"

McCoy glowered at him, indicating just what he thought of Jim's pain tolerance. "You do know what you're actually asking us to do, right?"

"I do," Jim said adamantly, looking at the two of them with steady intent. Spock's gaze sharpened in disapproval when Jim met his eyes, but said nothing. Jim continued, "If you're worried that doing the compressions while I've still got a pulse will, I don't know, _damage_ my heart or something, you know there's no actual evidence out there to back it up."

"That's beside the point!" McCoy snapped, visibly seething. "I don't think you get just how bad this is going to be for you."

Jim blinked, taken aback. "What?"

McCoy's glare sharpened adamantly. "You could be seriously injured, Jim. A cracked rib at the least, and several broken ribs wouldn't be out of the question. The only reason they still teach the damn thing in school is that, somehow, it still works!"

Jim shrugged. "I've had broken ribs before."

"This isn't a joke."

"And I'm not joking. Look, I've dealt with pain all my life. I'll be fine."

McCoy shared a long, commiserating look with Spock that somehow pissed Jim off, and he narrowed his eyes irritably until they turned back to face him.

"If anything, this could increase my chances of surviving," Jim argued, trying to sound reasonable. "If we keep up the compressions to trick the device until the _Enterprise_ is back on line, then stop my heart and remove the bomb, you'll be able to get the equipment you need to shock me back. Considering that my heart won't be stopped as long, I should make an easier comeback than if we went with the original plan."

"I think you're forgetting that the very fact that you being able to _feel this_ could put your body under a lot of distress. The risks alone are-"

"I know that," Jim cut in impatiently. "I'm not stupid, Bones."

"Then you also know that being conscious during this won't be an option." McCoy pushed, almost warningly.

"Well, that's more of an opinion, right?" Jim said vaguely.

McCoy looked at him incredulously, "You can't be serious, Jim."

Jim dropped his eyes briefly, then raised them again determinedly. "Could it work?"

"Why the hell would you want it to?!" McCoy gestured vehemently with his hands as he spoke, slashing at the air angrily. "It's crazy, it's-"

"You didn't answer my question, Bones."

McCoy made a strangled noise, his face flushing. "I can't listen to this anymore." He turned around firmly, his back to Jim and Spock, fuming silently.

Jim squinted disbelievingly at his friend, then glanced at Spock for backup. His first officer unhelpfully avoided his gaze, and Jim returned his glare to McCoy's back with renewed irritation.

"Bones, come on- don't be like- would you just-" Jim swore fiercely under his breath, shaking his head. "Bones, answer me, damn it. Could this work, or not?"

"Theoretically speaking...yes," McCoy answered reluctantly, turning back around slowly and looking disgruntled at having to answer at all. "But it's a _bad_ idea, Jim."

"So let's test the damn theory if it'll make you feel better!" Jim retorted impetuously. He climbed onto the table, stretching himself out on his back. McCoy frowned, realization spreading across his expression. "You wouldn't..."

Jim ignored him, looking at Spock instead. "Here, give it a go," he said, waving at his chest. Spock squinted slightly, the faint crease between his eyes the only indication of his confusion.

Jim gestured again pointedly. "Come on, Spock, push. We have to see if the compressions will stop the countdown."

When Spock hesitated, Jim rolled his eyes. "You're not going to hurt me, if that's what you're worried about. I can take it."

"Jim, perhaps you are overestimating your own endurance," Spock said quietly, his expression indiscernible. Jim exhaled impatiently and reached over, grabbing Spock's hand by the wrist and bringing it over to his own chest. He pressed Spock's palm over his sternum, feeling his own heartbeat pounding beneath the light pressure, and watched as the Vulcan looked away.

"Come on," he urged quietly, until Spock reluctantly met his eyes again, a fleeting moment of torn indecision within them.

McCoy broke in angrily, "You can't ask him to do that, Jim. You leave him out of this!"

"He_ is_ a part of this!" Jim retorted, glancing sharply at the doctor. McCoy subsided, though he remained visibly seething.

Jim turned back to Spock, tightening his grip on the Vulcan's wrist reassuringly. "This can work, Spock," he said steadily. "It's perfectly logical."

Spock, finally relenting, overlapped his hands, intertwining the fingers of his right hand with his left, and positioned himself over the center of Jim's chest. Jim nodded in approval, bracing himself for the impact...and Spock didn't move.

"Do it," Jim prompted. Spock blinked, uncertainty still evident in his otherwise stoic demeanor, and he made to shift his stance. Jim grabbed his hand instinctively, preventing him from withdrawing.

Spock's jaw set and he pulled his hand from Jim's sharply, and Jim sat up, staring at the Vulcan in bewilderment. There was a heavy note of disappointment in Spock's gaze before he finally turned away, striding several steps away from the table and stopping with his back to the others.

Jim waited a second before groaning in exasperation. "What was that about?" he demanded accusingly, swinging his legs off the table. Spock didn't answer, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.

"Damn it, Spock, _say _something!" Jim snapped, irritation sharpening his voice.

The Vulcan turned and finally raised his eyes to Jim's. "Would it matter if I objected?" he said quietly.

"What?" Jim was taken off guard momentarily by the unexpected response.

"Would it change the course of matters," Spock said again, slower this time, "if I raised any objections."

Jim's lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration flooding back in full force as his surprise faded. "No."

"Then I see no reason for me to speak."

"Look, we don't have time for-"

"Affirmative," Spock said at once, "and so I will speak plainly. I find your plan extremely disagreeable-"

"Spock-"

"I am not finished, Captain." The emphasis on the title was clear. Jim reluctantly closed his mouth and glowered as Spock pushed on, "I do not wish to inflict pain on you by any means. However, as your friend, I will respect your wishes if you allow me one request."

"And what's that?" Jim asked suspiciously.

Spock took a deep breath, then said, "Captain, I believe my natural abilities as a Vulcan may be of service in this situation."

"What?" Jim stared at him, confused, before realization sent him reeling. "You want to meld with me?"

"I believe it will at least partially alleviate the discomfort caused by-"

Jim raised his hands, halting Spock mid-reel, and frowned, his thoughts still staggering. "Wait...emotions and memories are transferred through mind-melds, right?"

"Indeed."

"And what about physical sensations? What about pain?"

Spock had caught on to the intention behind the pointed questions. "It is an unavoidable byproduct of the meld, yes."

"Then no," Jim said decidedly. "Out of the question."

"Captain, I must object-"

"Do I need to make this an order, Commander?" Jim asked challengingly, crossing his arms.

Spock's eye twitched, a telltale sign of rising anger beneath his cool facade. He took a step forward, closer to Jim. "I do not understand the apparent disregard you have for your own life."

Jim closed the distance between them, placing himself impudently in Spock's personal space and lifting his chin defiantly. His eyes narrowed slightly, almost challengingly, as he responded, "And what I don't get is why this even matters to you."

When Spock merely stared at him, his own eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to suppress his rising anger, Jim smirked, and added callously, "Oh, that's right. You'd like to pretend that this is actually going to affect you."

"Jim..." McCoy objected, unable to stay quiet any longer.

Jim ignored him, eyes never leaving Spock's, daring him to protest. The sight of the Vulcan resolutely keeping his composure set Jim off more than he would care to admit, and he jabbed his finger at Spock's chest aggressively. "You can _choose_ not to feel, so why don't you?!"

"Not when it concerns you."

Jim stopped, caught off guard by the frank admission. Spock stared at him a moment longer before dropping his gaze, and McCoy took the opportunity to intervene. He pushed at Jim's shoulder just enough to break the two of them apart and gave his chest a hard shove. "What the-"

"Did you enjoy that?" McCoy demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he converged on Jim.

"What?" Jim asked incredulously.

"You heard me."

"What are you-"

"All right. Maybe you like it harder." McCoy shoved him again with more force. Jim winced, rubbing at his sternum.

"Ow, Bones, what the hell!"

"It's going to hurt worse than that. A lot worse. But I think you just might like that."

"What are you talking about?!" Jim yelled, frustrated beyond coherency.

McCoy scoffed. "I think you know. If you're into this sort of thing, you know there are other ways you can go about getting it."

Jim clenched his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. "Shut up. I'm not _into_ it—"

McCoy squinted, a suspiciously knowing glint in his eye, and Jim sighed angrily. He glanced quickly at Spock, feeling a flush of shame and embarrassment creeping up the sides of his neck before turning back to McCoy.

"Look, Bones, I'm not some kind of masochist or anything, alright?"

"I don't know, Jim, I'm starting to think you've got a few screws—"

"Damn it, Bones, I told you! I don't get_ off_ on this crap!" He waved his arms in frustration.

"Bullshit."

It was the final straw. Jim turned his back resolutely, pausing for a lingering moment, then suddenly spun on his heel, punching the wall behind him hard in a surge of fury. His knuckles throbbed and pulsed with pain from the impact, but he welcomed its grounding presence with a weary familiarity.

When he turned back around, Jim found himself unable to look at either of his friends. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to slow his breathing. "It's not like that," he murmured, at last, his anger simmering down to a dull ache.

"What aren't you telling us, Jim?" McCoy demanded, crossing his arms. His voice was still stern, though it had softened slightly in concern.

Jim stared at the ground between his feet for a moment before responding, "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," McCoy challenged.

"We don't have time for this!" Jim argued.

McCoy sighed heavily. "Look, Jim. We're not doing this until you give us the real reason. Now, the way I see it, you either enjoy pain a little too much, or—"

Jim looked up, giving McCoy a warning look.

"Or...you can't live without it."

Silence.

They were both looking at him, the two best friends he'd ever had, and he had never felt so vulnerable and exposed as he did now.

"The question is, why, Jim?" McCoy pressed carefully, when Jim didn't respond, his voice less gruff than what Jim was accustomed to.

Jim looked strained. Hell, this was embarrassing. "Why does it matter?"

"Because we care about you, damn it!" McCoy growled.

Jim wasn't sure who looked more surprised at the passionate outburst, Spock or himself. The Vulcan glanced at Jim, the extra seconds it took him to recover telling Jim more than he was sure Spock wanted him to know.

Jim finally relented. "It's...safe," he sighed reluctantly, though he wasn't sure that was the proper description. There was no way for him to explain how he felt; it was why he had never bothered, before now. "Pain, I mean. I-I can't explain it, but... it's just _safe_, somehow."

He paused, struggling with his words. Spock and McCoy watched him quietly, their anticipating silence making the task even more difficult.

Jim gave a short, nervous laugh at last, shaking his head. "This isn't gonna make any sense, but, like I said, I've dealt with it my whole life. I don't know what's like to not feel _something_….especially pain. And I sure as hell don't want to either, because..."

"You don't know anything different," McCoy finished quietly.

Jim looked up, surprised, and met his friend's steady gaze. He nodded, slowly, the anxiety tightening his chest slowly unclenching.

After a long moment, during which McCoy glanced askance at Spock and received a short nod in response, the doctor subsided, visibly straightening himself out. "All right." He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring in old irritation. "_All right_," he repeated. "Say, just_ say_ that we go along with this inane plan. You have to promise me one thing, Jim. When this is all over, we're going to talk about this. Properly."

"Whatever you say, Bones," Jim sighed, exasperated.

"That's not going to cut it, kid," McCoy answered sharply.

"All right," Jim said, and frowned as the world tilted sideways for a brief moment. He squinted down at his feet and pinched the bridge of his nose as another wave of dizziness swept over him. "We will."

McCoy looked at Spock, then back to Jim in concern. "Jim, what is it?"

Jim caught himself against the wall before he could fall, clenching his eyes shut. "Damn it, everything's spinning..."

"You need to lie down," McCoy said at once, Jim nodded and took a step towards the operating table. That was as far as he got before his legs gave out and he was heading for the floor. Spock stepped forward swiftly and caught him around the waist before he could fall, hooking an arm behind his knees and lifting him up bodily.

"Whoa-" Jim protested groggily, as the world lurched precariously around him.

McCoy was hurrying to the operating table. "Put him here," he ordered Spock, reaching for his tricorder and glancing at it briefly. "Hurry, there's only ten minutes on the clock."

Spock set Jim down carefully, frowning when the man let out a pained groan.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" McCoy asked Spock cautiously, suddenly worried. "Not to go overboard on him."

"Of course, Doctor," Spock answered, rolling up his sleeves briskly. "I possess more than adequate control over my own strength."

"Good. All right, we're going to need to put these on you," McCoy told Jim, rattling one of the wrist cuffs at the side of the table.

Jim eyed it skeptically, blinking away the sweat threatening to drip into his eyes. "Is that really necessary?"

"Everyone's got their limits, kid."

The tricorder emitted a strange beep, cutting off any response Jim might have made. McCoy looked at the device distractedly, then did a double take, bringing it closer to his face and squinting disbelievingly at the screen. "Wait a minute...this can't be right."

Spock looked over sharply, alerted by the note of alarm in McCoy's voice. "Doctor?"

"When I checked this damn thing a few seconds ago I could swear there were ten minutes left. It's gotta be a secondary fail safe, somehow."

"How much time do we have, Doctor?"

McCoy studied the screen carefully, lips moving silently as he calculated the new readings. His eyes widened as he reached his conclusion, the color receding swiftly from his face.

"Shit."

McCoy set down the tricorder, practically slamming it down with his haste, and began fumbling with the leather restraints.

The Vulcan did not require further clarification at this point, moving quickly to the other side to assist McCoy.

A moment later, McCoy glanced down swiftly at the tricorder and swore. "No time," he said tersely, abandoning his efforts and grabbing the device once more. "You'll have to straddle him."

After a brief consideration, Spock placed a hand firmly on the edge of the operation table and swung a leg over and across in one fluid motion, settling his weight over Jim's waist and securing Jim's arms to his sides with his knees. Jim grunted at the foreign pressure, struggling instinctively until Spock met his eyes steadily, reassuring in his collected silence.

"We're down to thirty...twenty-nine- shirt!" McCoy ordered, sparing a brief glance up from the timer.

Focusing intently on his task, Spock grasped the front of Jim's collar and ripped his shirt open, the force of his movements causing Jim's back to jerk slightly off the table before thumping back down.

"Twenty-five..."

Spock flicked the torn pieces of fabric over Jim's sides, exposing his bare chest, and placed his hands firmly into position, leaning forward. He paused for the space of a breath, a heartbeat, steadying himself—

"Now!" McCoy shouted, the resounding command triggering Spock's next action.

Spock dropped down _hard_ for the first compression, Jim uttering a startled grunt as he absorbed the full brunt of the blow. When Spock pushed down again, the resulting huff of air held a hint of strain this time, Jim's eyes clenching shut as his head jerked back against the table. The tricorder's beeping altered slightly, faltering in its constancy as it picked up Spock's efforts. But still the timer continued, its merciless decline as brutally uncomplicated as any act of nature. The final moments...ten...nine...

McCoy stared down at his tricorder disbelievingly, counting, praying. "It's not working," he muttered bewilderedly, his fingers whitening around the device. "Why the hell isn't it working?"

The tricorder beeped suddenly with a loud, foreign sound. Jim's eyes snapped open, fixing unsteadily on Spock's face as his first officer pushed down again, his chest sinking painfully beneath the force of the impact. Red numbers flashed, five...

"I trust you," Jim gasped, searching for something in Spock's expression. Something, anything to hold on to-

...four...three...

"Stay with me, Jim," Spock responded firmly. Another forceful thrust, Jim's body jolting beneath him-

...two...

...one.

..


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, lovelies, did you enjoy the cliffhanger? Hopefully your wrath will be appeared by this 6K+ offering. Haha, don't say we never did nothing for you. Hope you enjoy and any and all feedback is appreciated!  
**

_.._

~Chapter III~

_McCoy stared down at his tricorder disbelievingly, counting, praying. "It's not working," he muttered bewilderedly, his fingers whitening around the device. "Why the hell isn't it working?"_

_The tricorder beeped suddenly with a loud, foreign sound. Jim's eyes snapped open, fixing unsteadily on Spock's face as his first officer pushed down again, his chest sinking painfully beneath the force of the impact. Red numbers flashed, five..._

_"I trust you," Jim gasped, searching for something in Spock's expression. Something, anything to hold on to-_

_...four...three..._

_"Stay with me, Jim," Spock responded firmly. Another __forceful thrust, Jim's__ body jolting beneath him-_

_...two...one._

_.._

The timer froze.

In the deafening silence that followed, McCoy's sudden exhale was harsh and ragged. Jim gasped in surprise, staring nonplussed at the ceiling as the knot of pure dread in his chest dissolved. Spock's eyes closed briefly, the only indication of his own relief, and when he opened them again and resumed the compressions, he did so with even more efficiency than before.

There was a sharp jolt as Spock delivered the next compression, keeping his elbows locked and dropping down on Jim's chest hard with a practiced restraint. Jim grunted involuntarily at the weight of the impact, his mind blanking for a split second from the sheer force.

He gasped in a shaking breath of air as soon as his thoughts cleared, then winced through another compression as his head jerked back reflexively against the table. And though the sensation was more than discomforting, painful even, somewhere distantly in his mind, he wondered why it wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought it would be. He could feel the pain hovering at the edges of his consciousness, surging forward eagerly as if sensing his acknowledgment; it strained through the pulsing of blood in his ears, a nauseating sense of trepidation rising within him.

"How're you doing?" McCoy asked unexpectedly, his face drifting in the corner of Jim's vision.

Jim cut his eyes towards the doctor, squinting peevishly. "Fantastic," he grunted, grimacing at the coppery taste coating the inside of his mouth. Must've bitten his tongue at some point, though he couldn't remember it.

"What's it feel like?" McCoy persisted, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone.

Jim eyed him for a moment, trying to gauge his own physical condition. He could feel his heart clenching in his chest, drawing tighter with every blow, but he wasn't exactly keen on reflecting on the strangeness of the sensation. "...serious?" he wheezed, too strained to sound incredulous.

"I'm a doctor, Jim. Scientific inquiry's kind of an occupational hazard," McCoy answered dryly. "So?"

Jim had a mad urge to snort, but figured he'd probably pop a rib trying and gave an exasperated eye-flick instead. Then, after a moment, he answered, "It's...weird. Like...you know...squishing a water balloon...with a brick...and there's all kinds...of bendy crap...rubber bands and stuff...holding the balloon together...and I'm the balloon."

Above him, Spock frowned quizzically and tilted his head slightly, his mouth opening as if about to question him further on the technicalities of this water balloon, then closing again decisively.

"You got...something...to say?" Jim grunted grumpily, in no mood for critique.

"Not particularly," Spock responded evenly, then paused. "On second thought...your compa-"

"Shut...up."

"Yes, Captain," Spock said slowly, sounding even more puzzled. "But perhaps...you too should reconsider...your priorities...and cease to talk."

McCoy rolled his eyes sardonically at his side, shaking his head. "I'll have you know," he said, "that this is the most awkward thing I've ever had to witness."

"Try...being...the balloon," Jim gasped irritably, trying relentlessly to slot his words in between the compressions and emitting awkward hiccups when he misjudged the timing.

"Perhaps you ought...to try breathing," Spock advised dryly. He gave another hard push, and another, this one even more discomforting, and then suddenly, like a truck or a tsunami, the real pain finally hit. Jim thought he might have been prepared for what was coming, but the reality of it was, he couldn't have been more wrong. With each new thrust to his chest came a fresh wave of pain, one that only intensified the longer it went on.

"Captain?" Spock's hesitant voice cut through his murky thoughts, the concern in his tone sharp and tangible.

Jim blinked and dragged his eyes to Spock's face with great effort. "I'm...okay," he said firmly, but was unable to keep his voice from wavering slightly. "Don't worry."

He could see Spock's eyes tightening in the moment of shared agony, eyebrows furrowing as he registered the affliction in Jim's wavering gaze. Nevertheless, Jim felt a stir of pride when Spock relentlessly continued, pushing down with enough force to jostle his head, the back of his skull thumping down with every blow.

Jim clenched his eyes shut, riding out the waves of shattering pain radiating from his torso doggedly. He fervently hoped that Spock hadn't miscalculated and shattered all his ribs in his efforts; it certainly felt like it.

The darkness of his closed eyes only made it worse, and he forced them open, focusing on Spock again. His first officer caught his gaze, held it, and continued. And at that moment, Jim wasn't sure what he wanted more, for Spock to stop or to ignore his pain and keep going. _Suck it up_, he told himself firmly. _If he stops, you all die._

Ignoring the pain was a simple enough decision to make in his mind, but his body disagreed vehemently. He wanted to cry, to yell, but he was trapped by his own prideful will. And Spock was watching him. Somehow that alone made everything hurt worse, knowing that Spock knew what he was doing to him, that Jim had asked this of him.

His heart squeezed uncomfortably through another compression, and he grimaced, suddenly finding the sensation nearly repulsive. Spock narrowed his eyes at him in slight concern, but Jim barely registered it as everything else took second place to another swiftly rising issue.

He couldn't breathe anymore for the crippling pain that gripped his mind as much as it did his body, couldn't so much as talk himself into trying. Every feeble attempt he made to inhale now took too long, and was therefore immediately crushed by a downward thrust. He widened his eyes desperately at Spock, barely managing a ragged grunt.

Thankfully, Spock seemed to come to the same conclusion fairly quickly, peering intently into Jim's face and making sure he had his full attention. "Jim, I will need you to breathe when I say. Do you understand?"

Jim tried to gasp a reply and found his lungs to be empty.

"Do you understand?" the Vulcan repeated, a hint of urgency in his voice.

_Yes, damn it,_ Jim glared helplessly.

Spock began to count in time with his compressions, low and fast under his breath, "One...two...three...four...five...six...seven... breathe."

Jim sucked in a shaky breath in the half second of respite, ribs creaking painfully, and nearly lost all of it when Spock came down again without warning to start the next round.

"One...two…three...four...five...six...seven... breathe, Jim."

He managed a better breath this time, inhaling valiantly and grunting slightly when the inevitable compressions returned with unrelenting force, and with them Spock's steady voice.

"One...two..."

It became a grueling cycle, Spock counting and pausing in brief intervals to allow Jim to snatch a breath. It was painful, it was hard, his chest seemed to be getting tighter and tighter, but soon Jim managed to pick up the timing without the aid of verbal cues, his body automatically surging for air in the small window of opportunity.

He felt a stray drop of sweat trailing down the curve of his chest, felt the dampness of his heated skin against the coolness of Spock's palms as he continued to press down. Beads of sweat were pooling in his clavicle, itching on his face, until he was certain he must be practically saturated with it. McCoy reached over after a moment, dabbing at his face and neck with one of their previously discarded shirts with a surprising gentleness.

"...thanks..." Jim murmured hoarsely, his eyes closing as the shirt brushed over his cheek.

"Hang on, kid," was McCoy's only reply, his hand lingering on Jim's forehead for a moment longer before he pulled away.

Spock pushed down again, and Jim clenched his teeth through it, the terrible pressure in his chest building and building and-

There was a small crack, and Jim's side suddenly flared with a white-hot pain. He grunted in shock, his vision flickering for a second. "Ouch...felt that one," he croaked, trying for a mild tone but most likely sounding as wretched as he felt.

McCoy grabbed for his tricorder, scanning the screen feverishly. "Just a fracture," he concluded tersely, glancing back at Jim in concern before his expression settled resolutely. "Nothing we can't patch up afterwards."

The next compression caught the cracked rib at just the wrong angle, and Jim fought down a wave of nausea at the resulting agony.

"Shit," he groaned, relishing the hissing of the curse as he reflexively arched against the table.

"My apologies," Spock muttered from above Jim, a small trace of guilt coloring his tone and creasing his brows.

Jim tried to nod, to blink, to do anything to acknowledge the apology, but his side throbbed again with a pulsing fire, and his breath hitched painfully in the back of his throat.

Spock had an odd contemplative look on his face as he pushed down again. "Jim, my offer still stands."

McCoy looked up with interest at that, glancing between them curiously.

Somewhere through the white jagged waves of pain, Jim muddled out his meaning. "No," he gasped, with as much vehemence as he could muster. "No melding."

"Jim-"

"Don't want...you...feeling this..."

"If it would aid-"

"Said..._no_."

"It is of no consequence to me," Spock said forcefully, punctuating his words with a downward thrust.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the pain before looking back up at Spock.

"It is...to me."

Spock's lips compressed in a thin line, and the next push felt deliberately harder, causing Jim to squint in pain once again as his head jolted sharply against the table.

"You...did that...on purpose," Jim grunted, glaring up at Spock accusingly.

"It is...what you want...is it not?" Spock challenged, watching intently as Jim's face flushed in anger.

McCoy looked at Spock incredulously, and the Vulcan readily ignored him. "Breathe," he instructed Jim tersely, more firmly than before.

Jim took a ragged breath, his strength clearly flagging.

"I do not believe...you would be so...obstinate...as to refuse-" Spock continued, his words punctuated by the force of his compressions.

"Are you two really doing this right now?" McCoy demanded, unable to remain quiet for any longer. "With this-" he gestured wildly between them, "-happening?"

Jim tried his best to glower at Spock. "Then...you don't…." he wheezed, sacrificing previous air in the process, "...know me...like I thought you did."

There was a shaken pause when he finished, enough time for a stab of guilt to slice through the haze of pain. He didn't miss the hurt that flashed unvoiced in Spock's eyes, and it was a sight he knew he wouldn't forget. What he had said was the farthest thing away from the truth, but the words were out, and he didn't have the energy to take it back.

"You are...unfair in your...assumption, Captain." Spock said finally, his expression sliding back into the mask of cool professionalism he had worn on their first meeting. "Breathe," he told him again.

Jim gasped feebly, his ravaged muscles straining to take in the air he needed. It was taking too long, Spock had to start again any second now, but he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do it-

"Damn it all," McCoy burst out, and then he was grabbing Jim's face, tilting it up and pressing a palm to his forehead. A moment later, he felt fingers on each side of his nose, pinching it shut. Before Jim could register what was happening, McCoy's mouth was pressed against his and air, sweet oxygen filled his lungs. It was only one breath, shorter than he wanted but enough for what he needed, and before McCoy had even finished, Spock was pushing down again with full force.

But Jim still had to be sure, and he struggled to force out his next words through numb lips. "That's...an order...Commander."

Spock stared down at him, his expression frozen in disapproval, before turning his eyes away. Then, a moment later, he looked back. "Yes, Captain." He pushed down again as he spoke. The downward push landed at an unfortunate angle, causing his hands to skim across the sheen of sweat glistening over Jim's torso and glancing waywardly to the left.

There was a split second of chilling dread. McCoy inhaled sharply at his side, and Jim, in his shock, seemed to have forgotten how to breathe at all.

Then the moment passed, the timer did not continue, and Spock recovered his senses rapidly, nodding sharply at the doctor to swab the remaining sweat from Jim's chest as he leaned back and partly lifted his hands. McCoy swiped the wadded-up shirt over the area quickly in the brief interval Spock allowed for him, careful to remove every trace of moisture, and pulled back swiftly as Spock immediately resumed his compressions.

A sudden rapid beeping from the tricorder caused McCoy to jerk in surprise. He dug it out from his pocket, cursing under his breath when he saw the readings on the screen. "Damn it, Jim, you need to calm down." He patted Jim's forehead distractedly with the dim thought of physically lowering his spiking blood pressure. Spock gazed down at Jim, his anger fading swiftly to concern as the doctor continued to soothe the younger man. "Calm down. It's all right. Think about...think about something nice. I know it hurts, but try."

Jim clung on to the sound of McCoy's voice, gripping desperately to his consciousness as it threatened to slip away. It was like running uphill and falling all at once, and everywhere the pain pulled him down.

"Hold on, Jim."

He tried to think of something pleasant, something soothing. His lack of happy childhood memories was frustrating.

"Jim, you need to relax," McCoy was saying, raising his voice over the insistent beeping of his tricorder.

_I'm trying, damn it. _He met Spock's eyes once more, straining to find some semblance of calm. There was a certain serenity in the Vulcan's gaze, even in moments like this, that Jim desperately wished he could emulate. Strange, how just looking at Spock now could relax him like this, when their first meeting had been so utterly disastrous.

_"I don't believe in no-win scenarios." He tilted his chin confidently towards the panel, foolish in his naivety. So sure of himself, in his fresh-pressed cadet red on that sunny afternoon._

_The Vulcan was speaking again, words clipped and precise. "Then, not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson." He really hated the way the guy talked, like a freaking robot._

_Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he turned his head to meet the frank stare of the Vulcan- Spock, whatever his name was. "Please, enlighten me."_

_Spock gazed back at him calmly, a ghost of a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, and it was that cool smirk accompanied by his next words that tipped Jim over the edge into full dislike for the man. "You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk. A captain cannot cheat death."_

A powerful jolt shocked him to reality for a blinding moment, his eyes blinking as he tried to make sense of his spinning surroundings. He felt Spock's hands pressing hard against his chest, literally tethering him to life, and something about the situation was amusing, but he couldn't think straight...

_"You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her!"_

_An inhuman bellow of rage, fingers around his throat, numbing pain that wasn't half of the agony he could see in Spock's eyes..._

He still felt guilty about that, wondering if he had ever really apologized for saying those things, even if it had been necessary.

_Crouching in the cargo bay of the Romulan ship, Spock's presence at his back._

_"I'll cover you," he whispered, eyes fixed straight ahead. The phaser hummed in his hands, his limbs vibrating with the thrill of adrenaline._

_"Are you certain?"_

_He nodded, surprised at his own response. But situations changed all the time, and now he found that he didn't hate the Vulcan as much as he thought he used to at all. "Yeah, I got you."_

He felt another forceful push on his chest, this one seeming more distant than the first...and before he knew it, he was falling again.

_Tears, hotter than the radiation racing through his veins, pulsed at the back of his eyes. His throat constricted with the added effort of restraining a terrified sob. He wasn't ready, he was too young. Nothing had prepared him for this, this terrible waiting before the end. "I'm scared, Spock," he gasped, the confession triggering the wells of emotion he had been suppressing. "Help me not be."_

_Spock shakily lowered his eyes and Jim felt the loss keenly. "How do you choose not to feel?" he murmured bitterly, envying Spock the very thing he begrudged him for. His heart was pounding too slowly in his chest, too weakly. The end was coming soon._

_Spock was shaking his head, a helpless motion that looked strange on the Vulcan. "I do not know." His voice throbbed with something poignant, an edged grief that seemed to shock himself as much as it did Jim. "Right now, I am failing."_

_Jim raised his eyes to Spock's trembling face. In another moment, another time, he would have been disbelieving. Right now, however, he felt only awe. How many times had he accused the Vulcan of not feeling, of not caring, how many times had he thought less of him for being so? He had been so wrong, so stupid, to not see how much, how deeply that Spock did feel. "I want you to know," he breathed, determined to say this, to let Spock know for certain, "why I went back for you. Why I couldn't let you die."_

_Spock met his eyes and Jim knew that he understood, that he had finally grasped the notion, and the satisfaction of knowing was almost worth the pain. "Because you are my friend."_

The next jolt was hard enough to spin Jim out of his daze, leaving him feeling like Spock had finally managed to punch through his spine. He could feel himself fading, unraveling away from his body on waves of blackness.

Something lurked beyond the edges of his dissipating vision, something so close and so far beyond that he could reach it if he just...let go...and maybe that was what he needed to do.

Jim's face was strained and paling, an unnatural shade compared to his usually vibrant complexion. Intermittent tremors racked his frame, his bare chest again gleaming with cold sweat that McCoy reached out intermittently to wipe away. His gaze wavered slightly, eyes dimming as his eyelids began to slide down. "Jim," Spock said sharply, hoping to snap the man back into awareness. Jim murmured something incoherently, his eyes already half-closed.

"...help...not be..."

"That's right," McCoy said encouragingly, patting Jim's cheek. "That's right, just keep talking." He leaned over and gave Jim another breath, frowning anxiously when Jim remained silent.

Spock swallowed hard, his frustration and worry mounting rapidly. "Jim, you must come back..." he tried again.

"Come on kid," McCoy tapped the side of Jim's face insistently. "You don't get to do this, you hear me? Jim!"

Jim's eyes closed, his face falling slack with a terrible finality that sat heavy in Spock's chest. "Doctor, what is happening?" he asked, unable to fend off a wave of anxiety from surging in his voice.

McCoy leaned forward and caught his gaze, saying quietly, "His body can only endure this pain for so long, if we don't..." He trailed off helplessly, shaking his head.

Spock continued, struggling to keep the teeming emotions at the edge of his mind at bay. If he relented, they would swallow him, consume him until he lost himself. Already there was a haze of throbbing panic dulling his thoughts, blunting logic and reason until all that remained was humanity.

"No!" he heard himself say, in a voice that did not sound quite like his own.

The next downward push was abrupt, with more strength than he had previously used.

McCoy looked over at him sharply, noticing the sudden change. "What are you doing?!"

Spock continued the compressions at the harder pace, some irrational instinct at the back of his mind urging him onwards. When he felt another rib crack beneath his palm, he set his jaw determinedly and kept going.

"Damn it, Spock," McCoy burst out, when he received no reply. "Are you_ trying_ to hurt him?!"

"He needs this, Doctor," Spock responded tensely, reluctant to expend more energy on a more thorough explanation.

McCoy looked between Spock and Jim, eyes widening slightly when he realized Spock's intent. He looked torn for a moment, clearly debating between his own gut instincts and his clinical sensibilities, then nodded reluctantly and didn't question Spock any further.

"Open your eyes, Jim," Spock murmured, silently willing the man beneath him to move, to stir, to live.

Jim's head bounced lifelessly against the table with the force of Spock's blows, a convulsive shudder trembling through his entire body in a jolting wave, and McCoy reached out and steadied him, cradling Jim's head between his palms. "Don't give up on us, kid," he said softly, his voice rough and threatening to unwind. "You can do this."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Spock slammed his fist down against Jim's chest forcefully. "_Now,_ Captain."

With a choking gasp, Jim's eyes flickered open, startled, and eventually searched for and found Spock's gaze once more. McCoy let out a breathless laugh that was almost a sob of relief, shoulders slumping as the tension in his body eased. And despite himself, in that brief moment of victory, Spock felt a small smile tug at his own lips.

Jim blinked at him slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching weakly in response. "...hey..."

Spock suppressed the maddening urge to berate him, his smile fading rapidly. "This is hardly...amusing," he informed Jim frostily, trading his still lingering panic for irritation.

"You...smiled first," Jim protested, invigorated by his indignation.

"That is irrelevant-"

"You _idiot_," McCoy burst in fervently, having finally found his voice. "Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear?!"

Jim gave a tentative smile, almost apologetically, as he gasped, "Love...you too...Bones."

"I swear, Jim, you'll be the death of me one d-"

Suddenly, Jim's body spasmed beneath Spock, his back lifting slightly off the table. The half-smile melted instantly from his face, replaced by a strained grimace.

McCoy moved instantly, laying a hand placatingly on the side of Jim's face. "What is it?"

Jim shook his head slightly, his eyes clenched shut. He struggled for air, gasping fruitlessly, and McCoy bent over obligingly to give him a breath.

"Jim, tell me what's wrong," McCoy asked instantly, when he pulled back again.

"...nothing-" Jim nearly choked as his body shuddered in another wave of pain.

McCoy worried his bottom lip for a moment, and glanced at his tricorder for reassurance, his expression mingled with a myriad of emotions. Then, he bent closer to Jim, his voice lowered to just above a whisper, but Spock heard every single word.

"You're the most stubborn idiot I know, kid. But you're also the strongest man I know. I ever tell you that?"

Jim struggled to open his eyes, his gaze, wavering as he tried to focus on McCoy's face. He opened his mouth uncertainly, gasping as Spock pushed down again. McCoy leaned in once more, saying fiercely, "Do you hear what I'm saying, Jim? There's no shame in whatever you're feeling right now. None at all, you hear?"

Jim stared up at him helplessly, and in that moment, something in him shattered and broke. There was a brief pause as his eyes slowly filled and glistened with moisture, and as Spock and McCoy watched, one lone tear spilled over, trailing down the side of Jim's face and past his ear. Jim blinked furiously, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. McCoy, sensing his embarrassment, placed a comforting hand over his forehead, his thumb brushing across the corner of Jim's eye and wiping away the tear subtly. "It's all right, kid."

Jim's lip trembled slightly. "M'sorry...I asked you...to do this," he rasped hoarsely, his guilt evident in his eyes as he looked from McCoy to Spock.

"Coerced us, more like," McCoy said gruffly, a small rueful smile tugging at his lips, and Jim tried to respond with a weak smile of his own. McCoy patted his head again reassuringly, letting the weight of his palm rest against Jim's forehead. Jim tried to speak again, his voice cracking and dying in his throat before he could muster a word, but McCoy nodded in understanding.

"I know, Jim. We know."

Jim relaxed visibly for a moment as he registered McCoy's words, then suddenly inhaled sharply as the next merciless bout of pain spasmed through his body.

"Are you certain...you can do nothing to...negate the pain, Doctor?" Spock asked quietly, suddenly more conscious of the force behind every thrust he delivered to Jim's chest.

McCoy shook his head regretfully. "Nothing that won't do more than take the edge off. And at this point, we need him awake until we stop his heart. The longer he is out, the higher the chance that we don't get him back."

Spock nodded, feeling a cold slide of resolution settle heavily in his chest. "Doctor, we must switch positions."

McCoy looked up sharply at his words. "What do you mean, switch positions?" he demanded, a burst of anxiety instantly triggered by the tightness of Spock's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Now," Spock said urgently, his tone leaving no room for argument. McCoy cursed and scrambled forward, pressing his hands to Jim's chest as Spock carefully pulled away, assuming the same position the Vulcan had just vacated. Jim grunted in slight surprise as McCoy pushed down for the first compression, eyes flicking up confusedly at the doctor at the sudden change.

After a few seconds, McCoy glanced up curiously to see Spock standing quietly by Jim's head, one hand placed almost absently on the side of his face to stabilize the jolting motions caused by McCoy's compressions. His eyes were closed, eyebrows slanting down sharply in a frown of concentration.

"You going to tell me what the hell is going on?" McCoy demanded, huffing with the effort of his compressions.

Spock readily ignored him, a small muscle working in his jaw, jumping erratically as the Vulcan seemed to focus on something distant. No, the doctor corrected himself. It was something much closer. And suddenly, McCoy knew all too well what was happening.

"You better not be doing what I think you are," McCoy said warningly, with growing suspicion.

"Quiet, Doctor."

There was a sudden rattling sound as Jim struggled to draw in air, and Spock moved swiftly to aid him. Using his free hand, he tilted Jim's head back carefully and pinched his nose, pressing his mouth against his captain's to deliver a full breath. He could feel Jim's body relaxing involuntarily beneath him at the welcome influx of air, and despite his awareness of the necessity, there was still a small part of him that dimly registered the strangeness of the entire situation.

When Spock pulled away, Jim squinted up at him, gasping confusedly, "What are you-" Realization dawned on him quickly, however, as he became aware of Spock's fingertips searching out their positions along his face. "Spock..._don't_."

"Please understand why I must do this, Jim."

"...why…?"

Spock looked at him intently, a strange lump rising unbidden in his throat. "Because you are my friend. Now, and al-always shall be." He cleared his throat self-consciously after the unintended waver. Jim's eyes softened slightly at the words before hardening again in determination, his mouth opening to-

"Breathe," McCoy grunted, pushing down again.

Ignoring the muffled protests beneath him, Spock covered Jim's mouth with his own once more and breathed out.

"You are defying...a direct...order, Commander," Jim rasped, when Spock finally withdrew.

Spock met his accusing gaze steadily, his own expression strangely exposed. "It is what you would have done."

Jim fell silent, staring at Spock with something not quite detectable in his eyes, before closing them resignedly at last.

Spock turned his thoughts inward and began to focus, allowing his barriers to thin and dissipate as he murmured, "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

McCoy watched helplessly as they both went stone still, Spock's brow furrowing in concentration as his body relaxed.

Suddenly, Spock faltered, his free hand rising unconsciously to grip at his chest, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. Beneath his other hand, Jim's face twitched, the two of them bound by whatever was happening through their connection.

"What is it?" McCoy demanded instantly, feeling grossly left out of the meldfest. "Spock!" The last thing he needed now was Spock collapsing on him. McCoy's arms moved down automatically in another jolt, and the tightening of Spock's hand over the center of his chest confirmed his niggling suspicions. "Can you_ feel_ that?"

When Spock didn't respond, still caught in the fog of the meld, McCoy raised his voice in frustration. "Spock, damn it, answer me!"

"A...result...of...the meld, Doctor," Spock replied raggedly, the words slow to come. "As I said...before, it is of no...consequence."

Suddenly, a burst of static followed by a loud familiar beeping reached the doctor's ears. "Spock, get my communicator," McCoy said tightly. When he heard no response, he glanced up. Spock didn't appear to have heard, every muscle in his body rigid with tension. "Commander!" McCoy ordered, and the Vulcan twitched, eyes flickering open confusedly.

"My communicator." McCoy jerked his head down at his belt. Spock nodded, his eyes still glazed over with the remnants of the meld, and reached out with his empty hand, unhooking the communicator and placing it on the table next to Jim so that McCoy could speak down into it.

McCoy cleared his throat. "_Enterprise_! This is McCoy, do you copy?"

"Copy that, Doctor," Sulu's calm voice crackled back. "We're reading you loud and clear."

"Well, thank God," McCoy muttered in response. He went on to relay the situation, keeping a wary eye on the other two officers as he continued his compressions.

Sulu said something then, something that made his ire rise instantly. "What?!" McCoy all but yelled, wincing guiltily as Spock frowned and flinched slightly.

"P-Prepare for transport, sir?" Sulu said again, more uncertainly this time. "If the captain needs medical attention, we should-"

"Are you insane?" McCoy barked into the communicator irately, "This is a delicate situation we've got down here, we can't just go around displacing his molecules all over the place! Now you listen very carefully, Mr. Sulu. I'm gonna need a cardiostimulator and AED down here _stat_- send Chapel, she'll know what I need-"

"Nurse Chapel is mid-surgery, sir," Sulu interrupted, almost apologetically. "Engineering mishap."

"Damn wrench-swingers," McCoy grumbled. "Never mind, then, have Scotty beam the equipment down, you hear?" He ended the call before Sulu could respond and cursed fantastically.

Presently, the familiar whirring sound of transport hummed around the room, and the equipment spun into existence beside the table. McCoy looked urgently at Spock, still lost in his trance. "Spock."

The Vulcan responded faster this time, his frown deepening slightly before he stirred and looked at McCoy.

"You need to take over," McCoy said, glancing meaningfully at the equipment on the floor.

Spock nodded jerkily, peeling his fingertips almost reluctantly from Jim's face and moving to the doctor's side. McCoy gave him another apprehensive look before swinging his leg back over Jim to crouch at his side, reaching down for the portable defibrillator. Spock climbed over Jim again, picking up the compressions where the doctor had left off.

McCoy was now fumbling with the portable defibrillator, prying the case open and swiftly uncoiling the mess of pads and wires.

Spock noticed what he was doing and frowned in consternation. "Doctor, the captain's heart is not yet-"

"I _know_ that," McCoy snapped, sticking the defibrillator pads to Jim's torso around Spock's hands, one to his right pectoral and the other on his left side. "But we'll have to be ready for when it is." He gave the final pad another firm press and withdrew, picking up the cardiostimulator and fiddling with its controls. "Five minutes to charge."

Spock watched these proceedings curiously from above him, unable to resist from inquiring, "Is this not remarkably similar to the defibrillator you denounced so thoroughly previously?"

McCoy grunted. "So I'm a little old-fashioned. Bite me."

The doctor fumbled in his medkit, withdrawing a loaded hypospray and eyeing it grimly. "All right," he muttered, more to himself than to Spock. He looked down at Jim, his expression softening. "This is it, Jim. You ready?"

Jim grunted in affirmation, his face lined in pain and exhaustion. McCoy nodded, took a deep breath, and looked at Spock. "Let's do this."

Jim flinched reflexively as the hypospray plunged into the side of his neck, his face flexing in discomfort as the drug spread through his system. Spock watched attentively as the muscles in Jim's face slowly grew slack, his pupils dilating erratically.

The sounds from the tricorder immediately altered, the beeping slowing as Jim's heartbeat gradually flickered and dimmed. McCoy held his breath, glancing at the device tensely as his fingers tapped with nervous energy against his medkit. This went against everything he knew, everything he was- he was supposed to be_ saving_ Jim, damn it, not watching him die _right in front of him._

It wasn't long before the final puttering beeps faded, leaving only the steady beats of Spock's compressions beeping from the tricorder. McCoy exhaled, saying, "All right, stop."

Spock paused, pulling his hands slowly from Jim's chest as the drone of his captain's flatlining heart filled the room. Spock stared uncertainly at Jim's still form, his own heart pounding unsteadily in his chest as he looked into open, lifeless eyes. This scene was all too familiar, all too wrenching, and he felt an old strand of panic resurfacing from deep within himself. He closed his own eyes, taking in a tremulous breath, and when he opened them, he was once again in control of himself.

McCoy was busily unpacking the contents of his medkit, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and picking up a standard-issue scalpel. "Should be a dermal regenerator in there somewhere," he said, waving a hand vaguely at the remaining equipment left in the corner by the terrorists. "Since they used one on Jim and all."

Spock immediately dismounted from the table and was at McCoy's side again in a few moments, holding the regenerator at the ready.

"This is gonna be a real fast in-and-out operation, you got it?" McCoy asked. When Spock nodded his affirmation, McCoy primed his scalpel, shifting his grip on the handle anxiously. "Here goes."

A small curl of white smoke, barely visible, accompanied the first incision, causing a thin trickle of blood to drip down the curve of Jim's ribs before the blade could cauterize the wound. McCoy wiped it away distractedly with a gloved hand, and after another careful cut, he cast aside the scalpel, sliding his fingers carefully in the incision with a grimace.

He carefully gripped the edge of the disk between his fingertips and gave it an experimental tug. The thing looked dead, its flickering interfaces black and lifeless, and after a quick glance at his tricorder to confirm that the bomb had been deactivated, McCoy pulled the disk out triumphantly. A small flow of blood seeped over the edges of the incision, and McCoy stemmed it quickly with his palm, pressing hard against the wound.

Spock moved forward with the dermal regenerator, and McCoy left the sealing of the wound to him, pulling away to hastily dispose of his bloodstained gloves. "Two minutes," he called over the humming of the regenerator, noting the time left on the cardiostimulator.

"That is two minutes of negative blood flow to the captain's brain," Spock pointed out tersely, pulling the regenerator away from Jim's now healed chest. "The risk of permanent nerve damage is at sixty-three percent."

McCoy hesitated, then jerked his head at the table. "What are you waiting for, then?"

Spock gave an acute nod, putting the regenerator down and pulling himself onto the table and over Jim, increasing the speed and force of his compressions slightly this time around. Jim's body lolled lifelessly beneath him, his still face unflinching beneath the force of the compressions, and Spock bit the inside of his cheek to quell the rising tide of fear and anxiety at the sight.

The next two minutes passed faster than either of them expected, and soon, the cardiostimulator emitted a low preemptive beep. McCoy seized the device instantly, moving to Spock's side. "It's time."

Spock eyed the doctor warily without ceasing his compressions. "I am ready."

"We'll go in three..." McCoy checked the defibrillator one last time, the device humming quietly by his legs. "Two..." He lifted the cardiostimulator, hovering it above Jim's chest. "_One_."

Spock gave one final compression and effortlessly slid off the table, pulling himself clear of Jim as McCoy pressed the cardiostimulator to the center of Jim's chest. Jim's body jolted in a long shudder, his back arching upwards and heels jittering on the table.

McCoy waited a second, keeping a watchful eye on the defibrillator screen. A moment later, a single beep pierced the silence, and he swallowed a triumphant shout. Giving the pads plastered to Jim's chest another once-over, he confirmed the irregular, but present heart rate and pressed the button on the defibrillator, delivering the first charge.

Jim shook again, the tremor more restrained this time, limbs twitching slightly from the current.

McCoy waited a second anxiously, cursed at the stubbornly faltering pulse, and gave a second charge.

Spock remained stock still across from him, eyes locked on Jim's face as if trying to will the man to return to them. Well, it wasn't as if McCoy wasn't willing it, too.

"Come on," McCoy muttered, feeling the itch of a drop of sweat trailing slowly past his temple. "Come _on_." He'd dragged Jim's ass out of more fires than he could count, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose him now to something so _mundane_ as heart failure.

He hit the button a third time, holding his breath.

Jim's chest swelled in a sudden, shuddering gasp, eyelids flickering open. His hands twitched at his sides, limbs stirring as his brain reasserted control over his body. Spock made a muffled sound of surprise that McCoy was positive he would deny later. As it was, he nearly went into conniptions himself at the sight of Jim's revival.

"_Jim!_" He nearly bashed heads with Spock trying to bend over Jim at the same time, fumbling for his tricorder. "Thank _God_-"

Jim's eyes were wide open now, flicking dazedly between Spock and McCoy. His face gleamed with a sheen of sweat as his expression suddenly contorted into a grimace. "Unghhhh," he groaned. "I'm gonna…"

McCoy leaned in uncertainly. "What? What was that?"

"Gonna throw up…."

McCoy swore, reaching out and rolling him over onto his side. Jim tightened beneath him in a wheezing heave, legs jerking as his empty stomach contracted. He retched abruptly over the side of the table, bringing up nothing but a thin stream of bile. Through the following series of painful coughing and gagging, McCoy kept a steady hand against Jim's back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. "That's it, kid. Just let it all out." He glanced across at Spock, jerking his chin meaningfully. Spock raised his eyes from Jim's groaning form and nodded, reaching for his own communicator.

"You're gonna be okay, Jim," McCoy said, allowing himself to believe it for the first time since this whole mess started. "You're okay."

"Ughh...the hell I am…"

"Don't be such an infant," McCoy responded automatically, a reluctant smile twitching at his lips.

"Spock to _Enterprise_," Spock said quietly, and McCoy had the presence of mind to grab for his equipment before the Vulcan gave the next command.

"Energize."

..

..

**A/N: Hurr hurr guess what, he lives. **

**This is not the end, btw, MUCH more goodness to follow! Thanks for reading yooooo leave us a comment below to feed the plot bunnies.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey there, lovelies, we promised more and more is here! Thanks so much for your comments, we appreciate and every one so KEEP EM COMING. Special thanks to all you guest reviewers out there- I wish I could respond to you all but this will have to do ;_; Just know that we love you just as much for taking the time!**

**Do let us know what you think-wink-it keeps the writing coming.**

..

~Chapter IV~

Jim let loose a heavy sigh- the fifth since the start of McCoy's shift- and groaned listlessly until the doctor turned around, scowling irritably.

"Jim, for the love of-"

"I'm _bored_, Bones!" Jim kicked out in frustration, pulling his sheets out from under the end of the mattress in the process.

McCoy stifled a peeved retort and silently moved to tuck the sheets back in, ignoring Jim's angry stare. "Such an infant," he muttered under his breath, grouchily glancing at Jim's monitors for the sake of alleviating the tedium. The readings were fine, as they had been for a while now. He knew Jim recovered quickly; in fact, he could personally testify to every ridiculous accident in the past five years in which Jim had managed to bounce back from what would have downed a regular man for a week in less than three days.

This recent incident was no different. Jim was technically ready to be discharged; his ribs had healed nicely in the past two days, his heart and brain showed no abnormalities or any lasting damage from the trauma they had received. However, now and then, there were times when he would fall asleep and the monitors would go haywire, and McCoy would hover anxiously at his bedside until the readings settled down, but Jim never showed any signs of distress after waking and everything was practically good as new.

That didn't stop McCoy from worrying. He watched Jim's heart monitors obsessively, he practically slept in the next bed when off duty, and he ignored all of Chapel's attempts to coax him out of the medbay. With the recent stress Jim's heart had been under, the thought of him possibly slipping back into Atrial Fibrillation the second McCoy stepped away was enough to keep the doctor up even when exhaustion weighed down his very bones.

"I'm dying here, man, you've gotta let me do_ something_," Jim pleaded**.** "At least let me do my work. I know there's got to be a load of paperwork after that planetside fiasco-"

"Let Spock take care of it."

Jim sulked for all of three seconds, plucking absently at his wristband. "Tell you what, I'll behave myself if you at least let me have my PADD."

McCoy squinted at him suspiciously, not buying the puppy-eyed act for one second. "Oh yeah?"

Jim smiled winningly, widening his eyes for appeal. "Yeah. No complaining, no talking, zip."

The thought was tempting. Too tempting. The kid had always known him too damn well for his own good. McCoy scowled aggrievedly. "I give you your PADD, you behave, _and_ I keep you another day."

Jim's eye twitched, but his smile stayed unwaveringly. "Twelve hours."

"_A day_, Jim. Going once." McCoy crossed his arms, smirking slightly.

"Aw, come on-"

"Going twice."

"Damn it, all right!" Jim threw up his hands in exasperation. "Grumpy old coot," he muttered under his breath when McCoy triumphantly turned away to fetch the PADD.

"I heard that." McCoy swatted him with the datapad before handing it over, watching disapprovingly as Jim eagerly began pulling up his neglected documents.

The medbay doors whooshed open suddenly, and they both looked up to see Spock stride in, arms full of ledgers and more PADDS. "Captain, I have brought the paperwork you requested-" he stopped at McCoy's suddenly furious stare and graced Jim with a wry eyebrow. "I take it you have not informed the doctor of your intention to resume your duties."

There was a small pause, barely half a second of hesitation during which Jim stared at Spock with an unreadable expression before he spoke, though there was no nuance in his tone suggesting that anything was out of the ordinary. "I was hoping to break it to him gently-" he began, then nearly yelped as McCoy suddenly jabbed him viciously with his hourly vitamin supplement.

Spock carefully set the pile of documents down on an empty bed and turned back to them, taking in the scene of domestic dispute with interest. "The crew expressed their concern for your well-being, Captain. I assured them of your full recovery."

"Hear that?" Jim growled, rubbing his neck with a wounded expression. "_Full_ recovery, Bones. Even Spock can see that!"

"Pardon?" Spock said mildly.

McCoy ignored him. "I'm sorry, who here is the certified doctor? You're fine when I say you are, and right now, you aren't."

Jim fell silent, moodily tapping at his datapad. Satisfied, McCoy watched him for a moment before saying, "And besides. You owe me a conversation."

Jim looked up, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"We promised we'd talk once it was over, remember?" McCoy said quietly.

Something shut down behind Jim's gaze, a guarded expression sliding over his face, and the momentary flicker of his eyes towards Spock would have gone unnoticed if McCoy hadn't been watching as closely as he was. Before the doctor could puzzle over the motion, however, Jim was already looking back down at the PADD without so much as a word.

McCoy glanced frustratedly at Spock, who merely looked back with a slightly discomforted expression mirroring Jim's, and the doctor raked his hand through his hair distractedly. "Look, you gotta talk to me, Jim. Say something."

Jim turned the screen of his datapad towards McCoy and the doctor saw that it was opened to a blank canvas, the words: _Not talking, remember? I'm behaving_ scrawled onto the white surface. McCoy stared at it, then up at Jim, and the kid had the flaming audacity to cock an eyebrow at him.

McCoy took a deep breath. Then another. When the urge to strangle Jim had subsided to a low buzz, he spoke again. "All right. We'll talk about it later, then, hmm?" He was proud of how steady his voice was, afterwards.

Jim raised one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, and went back to poking at the PADD silently.

McCoy watched him go at it for a couple of minutes, then glanced at Spock. The Vulcan was gazing at Jim, a strange look on his face as if he wanted to say something, but didn't know how. McCoy took all of this in, then nodded decisively to himself and cleared his throat.

"I've decided to discharge you today, Jim."

Jim looked up at that in surprise, his expression brightening considerably. "Really? But you said—"

McCoy stopped him with an irritated glance. "I've got some conditions, of course." He cleared his throat again pointedly, making sure he had Jim's full attention. "One, you report back to me tomorrow for a checkup."

Jim looked physically pained at the thought, but nodded reluctantly.

"Two, you're under Spock's observation for the first twenty-four hours after your release."

"_What?_!" Jim demanded, aghast. Spock raised his eyebrows slightly, the only indication of his own surprise, but said nothing in protest.

"A twenty-four-hour period," McCoy repeated firmly. He turned and picked up his tricorder, fiddling with the settings. "During which Spock will monitor your vitals. You do know how to work this, right?" he addressed the last words towards Spock, who looked at the tricorder consideringly. "I believe that I am familiar with its basic functions, however..."

"All right, here...this scans for respiratory anomalies, and here..." He indicated a few more controls on the tricorder before passing it over to Spock. "Make sure you keep an eye on his heartbeat; we don't want a repeat of the AF."

"Yes, Doctor."

Jim cursed under his breath. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, I'm not," McCoy said simply. "Unless, of course, you want to stay here…"

Jim sulked silently, glancing at Spock briefly then looking away as the Vulcan turned to regard him.

"That's what I thought," McCoy finally said, when no reply was forthcoming. "Besides," he added, looking between Jim and Spock meaningfully, "you two need to work this out, whatever _this _is. Frankly, it's getting on my last nerve."

"What? There's nothing-" Jim made a feeble attempt at protesting, and McCoy looked at him exasperatedly. "You think I haven't noticed, Jim? With the way you two are acting?"

Jim at least had the grace to look embarrassed while Spock elected to avert his eyes, studying the floor with clinical interest. Bizarrely, the Vulcan reached up, as if about to run his fingers through his hair, and visibly checked himself, frowning down at his hand as if it was a foreign object.

Jim mumbled incoherently under his breath, but accepted the folded uniform McCoy eventually found in a storage niche and tossed at him, stripping off his white medical top unceremoniously and flinging it to one side. He had his head and one arm into his black undershirt when the doctor stopped him.

"Hold up, let me check your ribs."

Jim rolled his eyes, but held up the hem of his shirt obligingly while McCoy ran a light hand over his left side, pausing to probe carefully at where the bones had fractured. Spock watched the proceedings intently from across the room, clearly watching for any unfavorable response from Jim that would warrant another night's stay in the medbay. Jim kept his expression rigidly blank as McCoy poked and prodded. There was a light patch of bruising over his sternum that the doctor eyed suspiciously.

"How much does that hurt?" he asked in concern. "It's pretty normal after going through something like that, you know."

"Yeah, you two really did a number on me," Jim muttered, twitching a vague smile to ease the sting.

McCoy shrugged helplessly. "We thought we were going to lose you, so we might have...well, Spock might have...overcompensated a bit at one point."

"Well, he's overcompensating for something, that's for sure," Jim mumbled, rolling his shirt down over his chest.

"Your implications, as always, Jim, lack in sophistication," Spock said icily, "not to mention accuracy."

Jim shrugged noncommittally, pulling on the rest of the uniform and making his way to the corridor, Spock and McCoy following him closely.

"I'm serious, Jim," McCoy was saying, catching Jim's elbow and turning him around. "I've seen people, men, women...after going through crap like this, they don't just get up and walk away."

Jim could feel Spock's gaze on him and pointedly avoided it. "Watch me," he said eventually, after a brief hesitation.

"Not talking about it ain't going to make it go away, you know. There's nothing wrong with-"

"What's there to talk about?" Jim said dismissively. "You were there, the both of you. You know everything that happened."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," McCoy insisted impatiently.

"Well, if you remember anything new, let me know," Jim said with biting sarcasm. He turned to leave, striding off down the corridor.

Spock hesitated, looking briefly at McCoy before following Jim.

Behind them, McCoy shook his head in disgust and sighed. "You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?" he called out peevishly.

Jim paused for half a step, looking almost as if he was going to turn back around for a split second, but stopping before the movement had begun. "So I've been told," he said at last.

He kept walking, and McCoy didn't try to stop him.

After a couple of moments, Spock moved up quietly so that he walked by Jim's side, their shoulders almost brushing together. It had become almost an unconscious gesture between them, but now they seemed to both realize it at the same time and moved slightly apart out of silent agreement.

There was a pause before Spock spoke, just enough for Jim to tell that Spock was aware of his avoidance. "Starfleet has issued a search for the escaped terrorists while you were incapacitated, Captain. Their capture is only a matter of time." He hesitated as Jim glanced at him, and averted his eyes. "Captain, if I may inquire-"

"Not now, Spock," Jim said tersely. He could feel Spock's disapproval in the ensuing silence, as well as his own guilt prodding him irritably in the gut.

When he finally reached his rooms and unlocked the doors, Spock followed closely behind him, practically breathing down his neck. When Jim turned around to put his communicator down on a table and nearly crashed into the Vulcan, he decided enough was enough. He couldn't bring himself to even look at Spock the same yet, not after what had….well, not after how much he'd shown the Vulcan, consciously or not.

He threw up his hands, stepping away from Spock in frustration. "Look, Spock, I get it, okay? This is your job and all that, but you've gotta give me a little space here, all right?"

Spock studied him critically and apparently came to his own conclusions. "You are in need of sleep," he said decisively. "I suggest that you rest now."

Jim had a wild and terrifying vision of trying to fall asleep while Spock loomed responsibly over him and quickly shook his head. "I've slept long enough," he grumbled, remembering the long hours in medbay under McCoy's beady glare, "and I've got work to do." He glanced reluctantly at his desk, piled high with invoices and legal debris, and resignedly made his way to his seat. After a moment, Spock followed suit, sitting down primly at a nearby table and beginning his own work.

It wasn't long before the silence began to irk Jim. Spock wasn't helping much either, his attention inexplicably held by the globe of Earth sitting innocuously on the table. It had always been there; Jim had no idea why the hell Spock was so fascinated by the thing now. He coughed once awkwardly, the sound uncomfortably loud. "You mind if I, ah..." he gestured futilely. "D'you mind if I put on some music?"

Spock arched an eyebrow, dragging his eyes away from the globe. "Not at all, Captain."

Jim hesitated a second more, then reached over and tapped at his console, bringing up the preset acoustics over the room's speakers. A low murmuring of sound began, and Jim settled back to his work, letting himself fall into a sort of numb routine. He wasn't paying much mind to which songs were playing until one particular strain caught his attention.

_...Someone told me love would all save us_

_But, how can that be, look what love gave us-_

It was already too late. He noticed Spock's tilted head as he listened to the music curiously, and Jim felt a rush of mortification and self-consciousness as the song continued to play on, the gravelly voice of some long-gone musical sensation rising in volume. He cleared his throat and stabbed at the console screen determinedly, turning the song off.

Spock looked over at him with a strange expression. "That was….peculiar," he said contemplatively.

"It's an old song," Jim muttered, feeling a flush creep up the back of his neck. "You wouldn't know it."

Spock nodded slowly. "I would not be opposed to hearing the rest of it," he said, after a moment of reflection.

Jim glanced at him skeptically. "Huh, I thought you'd be more of the "classical" type. Some of this twenty-first century's stuff's pretty weird, you know?"

Spock merely looked at him expectantly, and Jim shrugged awkwardly, reaching over to turn the music back on.

_-And they say that a hero can save us,_

_I'm not gonna stand here and wait-_

Spock started a little at this, glancing at Jim and catching his gaze for a moment. Something about that made Jim feel inexplicably self-conscious, and he pushed himself away from the desk with the intent of fetching a cup of coffee from the replicator.

"Tea for you, right?" Jim tossed offhandedly over his shoulder, thinking it was only polite to offer. But before he could complete the order, his hand froze on the replicator controls, a chilling revelation jolting down his spine. Spock had never told him that he drank tea before. So how the hell did he know-

He turned abruptly, the coffee forgotten, and saw that Spock had stood and moved around the table, staring at the globe once more. As Jim watched, Spock reached out tentatively, tapping the globe carefully and sending it into a light spin. The continents went round and round, gradually coming to a slow stop.

Jim was dimly aware of his pounding heart, of the feeling of tight, muffled panic rising swiftly within him. No. It was impossible.

Spock idly traced the outline of Australia, brow furrowed as if in distant memory. "This is from your mother?" the Vulcan finally murmured, but something in his voice signified that he already knew the answer.

Jim forgot how to breathe, his throat closing for a moment before he forced out the words, "I think you know."

Spock looked up at him, his hand poised hesitantly over the Pacific Ocean.

_He can't know he can't possibly know it was our secret-_

"Do it," Jim said, his voice muffled and blurry under the heavy rushing of blood in his ears. "You know, don't you." It was not quite a question, and yet he hoped desperately that Spock would deny it, would frown at him quizzically and ask him what he was talking about.

Spock regarded the globe quietly for another moment, and then moved assertively, pressing his fingers with utter certainty against Africa, South America, Europe, North America. Jim bit his lip as Spock's hand hovered over Australia, then pressed down.

Jim automatically signaled for the lights to dim, knowing what was coming. The lines of longitude on the globe split apart slightly, separating the sphere into separate segments with a faint white light seeping through the cracks.

The dark walls of Jim's room were suddenly awash with light, the floor and ceiling likewise transfigured as the three-dimensional projection of the universe flickered into life around them. Planets spun distantly in their celestial dance through the air, clouds of icy stardust swirling above the floor. Jim watched with a nostalgic fascination as a nebula twirled beside him, a sun winking into existence and disappearing before his eyes. But the most spectacular sight was the stars, surrounding them like falling, iridescent snowflakes frozen in time.

Jim was distantly aware of the song still playing in the background, reaching the peak of its chorus with a spiraling sense of finality as he stared at Spock. The Vulcan looked nearly stricken at the marvelous sight, his eyes finding Jim's across a sea of stars. Suddenly, Jim felt a surge of outrage, his fists clenching at his sides. "What," he said slowly, his voice shaking with forceful restraint, "did you do?"

"Jim, I-"

_"How the hell did you know all that_?!" Jim all but shouted at him, his heartbeat a frantic drumming in his chest.

Spock shook his head placatingly, taking a tentative step towards him. "Jim, it is not-"

Jim gestured angrily with a violent slash through the air. "Music, off." The song abruptly stopped, and for a moment, the two of them stared at each other across the expanse of a million galaxies in silence. Spock was looking at him, something in his expression that hadn't been there before...before all this, and Jim felt a stab of betrayal deep in his chest. "What aren't you telling me?" he demanded.

"I suspect that we are experiencing a residual effect from the meld," Spock said resignedly. "There was not time to disengage properly and..." He made an awkward movement that might have been an attempt at a shrug, and the sight was both so unbearably human and unlike Spock than it only served to make Jim angrier. Spock had probably lifted that from his mind, too, as well as who knew what?

"Fix it."

Spock blinked at him. "I do not believe it to be possible, Jim. The human mind was never intended to-"

Jim swore loudly, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "How much do you know?" he asked at length. It was probably a mark of how deeply Spock had seen within him that he did not require further clarification.

"It would be unwise of me to inform you."

"Damn it, Spock, it's my own memories we're talking about. I've got every right to know!"

The Vulcan turned for a moment to consider the globe, then reached out slowly and gave it a light tap, sending the sphere spinning. Around them, stars and planets blurred as they whirled and revolved around each other. It was dizzying, it was beautiful, and Jim tried not to think about how he had done the same once himself.

"It was raining," Spock began, his voice quiet and distant. "The house was dark when you returned from the town. You...had a cut, here, after provoking a violent altercation that night." He touched his own mouth absently, eyes fixed on the globe as it slowed to a stop. "You were not aware of her presence until she spoke."

_"Did you forget?"_

Spock's trailing fingertips skipped across the Atlantic Ocean. "You were angry. She was rarely home."

_"Does it matter?"_

"She looked at you with an expression you could not read, but you could see the sorrow there, as well as the resentment." Spock paused, his fingers lingering on Russia. "You were accustomed to this, but it pained you to see it nevertheless." Jim flinched at the words, tearing his eyes away from Spock as the Vulcan traced the edges of Asia, and stared fixedly at a meandering solar system by his feet.

"There was a package," Spock added, his eyes closing briefly. "On the table. You wondered how you missed it before."

_"Open it," she said finally._

_He pulled the ice pack from his lip and frowned at the red staining the fibers of the towel before looking at the object warily. "What is it?"_

"_It's for you." She drank calmly from the mug she held between her hands. "Happy Birthday," she added after a moment, and there was something hard in her voice._

Jim's voice was caught in his throat. He wanted to protest, to make Spock stop, but he was already continuing and it was too late-

_The globe was something that should be in a museum, not a kitchen table in Iowa. He looked up at his mother. She wasn't looking at him, staring at the globe instead. He couldn't read her eyes, and it bothered him._

"_Pay attention," she said softly, and he did. Thunder rumbled outside the window, and for a moment a flash of lightning flooded the room. She reached out and pressed her fingertip against Africa. South America. Europe._

_He watched her bemusedly, the throbbing of his cuts and bruises forgotten. Then the globe split open and the stars spilled out, and he forgot everything._

_It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and so was the look in her eyes when she gazed out at the swirling constellations. Then she looked at him, and her eyes darkened, and-_

"You did not wish for her to leave," Spock continued relentlessly, "but the next day-"

"_How long will you be gone this time?" he heard himself ask, tracing the lines on the globe with fascination. He wanted to open it up, see where the magic was, but there was something about it that made him almost afraid to touch it._

"_Who knows?" she replied, after a short pause. He looked up, slightly surprised. It was sometimes a week, a month, once even a year. But she always knew._

"_Will you be back?" He didn't know why he asked and hated himself for the waver in his voice._

_She looked at him, bag slung over her shoulder and golden hair pulled back tight from her face. It made her look older, sharper. "Keep that," she said, nodding at the globe, and took her keys from the counter._

_He couldn't stop her; he never could. But this time, it was different. This time...__she stopped, and looked back at him, and something in her expression softened the slightest degree. She walked over and stopped in front of him, tilting her head back to look at his face. He looked back helplessly, wondering when he'd gotten so much taller. After another moment, she gave a firm nod and stood on her toes to brush her lips against his forehead in a light kiss. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, she was already closing the door behind her._

"That was the last time you ever saw her," Spock said quietly. "You received a notice of her death seven years later."

Jim looked at him sharply, anger throbbing in his voice, "You know every damn detail, don't you?"

Spock looked back steadily. "You believed her to have abandoned you that night-"

"Enough." Jim's voice cut in. His tone was harsh and rough with emotion that he barely managed to keep at bay. He shook his head forcefully. "Turn it off."

Spock looked up at him, caught off guard for a moment, then hesitantly reached out and placed his hand over the top of the globe, twisting it until the segments clicked back into place. The lights disappeared, the stars faded away, and the room was black for a split second before the lights automatically switched back on.

"You see, that's where you're wrong." Jim said vehemently. "I never needed her." He stared hard at Spock, daring him to deny it.

Spock blinked, clearly taken aback by his anger. "I..." he trailed off, watching as Jim began to abruptly move about the room, yanking clean clothing vindictively from his drawers. "Captain?"

Jim sighed in frustration. "I'm taking a shower," he said shortly, his voice edged in ice, "if that's all right with you."

"You are angry with me," Spock stated.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jim found a clean pair of briefs and added them to his pile.

"I am sorry if I caused you emotional distress, Jim. That was not my intent."

"Not now, Spock," Jim muttered, opening a drawer and glaring inside, cursing under his breath. He couldn't very well go to bed in his briefs like he usually did, not with his first officer prowling around the place, but now he couldn't find a pair of pants that weren't regulation trousers. He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Spock answered from behind him.

"Second drawer from the bottom."

Jim bent automatically to check the contents of the drawer, and then froze, turning his head to glare at Spock sidelong. _Bastard_. The pants were where Spock had said they were, and that pissed him off more than it should have.

"That must be useful, having a photographic memory," he said offhandedly. "Especially when the memory's not even yours."

"It has its merits," Spock said carefully.

Jim snorted and finally began making his way to the bathroom. Spock stepped towards him uncertainly.

"You can stay here. Unless, of course "careful observation" means you gotta follow me in." Jim says sarcastically.

Spock answered solemnly, "If it is necessary, Captain, I can accompany you-"

"Hell no," Jim snapped instantly. He cleared his throat, feeling an inexplicable strain of guilt under Spock's surprised stare. The guy was only trying to help, after all, in his own ridiculously sincere way. "It's really not necessary, Spock. I'll be fine. "

Spock studied him a moment longer, then nodded in weary affirmation. "Yes, Captain."

The last thing Jim saw before the bathroom door closed was Spock settling himself resignedly into one of the chairs around the room, picking up a spare datapad.

He undressed automatically, grimacing when his chest tightened as he bent to pull off his socks. The shower jets were soothing against his back as he stepped under the stream, though, easing the tension from his neck and shoulders. He stood there a long time before moving to wash himself, tilting his face up and letting the warm water cascade over his closed eyes. The sound of pounding water filled his ears, and for a moment he felt like he was truly alone. The thought was both terrible and reassuring.

The mirror was completely fogged over with steam by the time he exited the shower, and he reached over to wipe it clean with his hand, wiping his face dry with the corner of his towel. Glancing down, he noticed the same faint purple bruise over his sternum, where the dermal regenerator hadn't quite managed to erase the traces of the beating his body had taken. He placed a hand over it absently, felt the slight ache there that he would never admit to Bones, or Spock, for that matter. He wanted to tear his eyes away from it, but for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't.

"_Stay with me, Jim."_

Jim found that he couldn't forget the determination he had seen in the Vulcan's eyes in that moment. He wasn't sure if Spock's words had been an order or a request, but they had resonated within him, making the pain of the compressions that had followed somehow that much sharper. He could still feel the weight of Spock dropping down on his chest, felt a tight pressure there even now, and he wondered if he would ever be able to forget that.

Jim shook his head forcefully and dressed himself, stepping purposefully towards the door before he faltered and stopped. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the closed door. He suddenly found that he couldn't move, couldn't make himself take one more step towards the door, towards his first officer.

He stumbled back, stopping only when his back met the wall with a dull thud, and he let his knees buckle almost gratefully, sliding down the wall slowly. He couldn't go out there and face Spock like this. He couldn't look into his face and see his own memories looking back, because they were terrible things, awful things he wouldn't wish on anyone but himself- things he had tried to repress.

He supported his head between his hands and took a deep breath, drawing one knee up to his chest. "It's all right," he muttered to himself, as he had done so many times before, all those years ago when the belt struck too hard or the resentment cut too deep, "It's all right, you're all right." He took another breath, letting it out shakily. "I'm all right," he whispered, and tried to believe it.

It was a few more minutes before Jim managed to pull himself back together enough to stand, pulling at his shirt absently where it had ridden up past his waistband. He walked to the door, proud of the steadiness of his own voice as he deactivated the lock.

When he finally stepped out from the bathroom, he nearly walked right into Spock, who stepped back automatically to avoid a head-on collision. "Spock, what do you think you're-" Jim cut himself off, lingering awkwardly into the doorway. He could feel embarrassment and righteous affront warming his face, and cursed his tendency to flush in times of high stress. He settled for a reprimanding glare. "What are you doing?"

"Captain, I thought I heard…" Spock trailed off, staring at Jim bemusedly. "I believe I was mistaken, sir."

"Apology accepted," Jim muttered, stepping around Spock and heading for his desk again. "You might as well sit back down. I'm not going anywhere for a while." He settled down in his own chair and pulled his work towards him with grim intent. "You know, you could go to sleep," he said, somewhat hopefully. "Bed's free. I've slept plenty these past two days."

"Thank you, Captain, but that will not be necessary. If the need arises, meditation will be sufficient," Spock answered, seating himself at the table once more and picking up his PADD.

"Naturally," Jim mumbled, bending his head to the task before him. He then looked up again as something occurred to him. "You know, this...residual effect, it cuts both ways."

"Captain?"

"That _means_...I've probably got something from your head in here, too." Jim tapped his temple. "Unfortunately."

"One might consider it an improvement," Spock said archly.

Jim scowled. "_One_ should have been more careful with poking around in other people's heads in the first place." Spock blinked at him for a moment, and they both settled down to work again in disgruntled silence. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.

Spock looked up a little while later when he noticed a gradual change in Jim's breathing patterns. Jim's head was drooping slightly, descending towards the surface of the desk with alarming velocity. Then, suddenly, it jerked up again, Jim blinking fiercely in an effort to stay awake. Spock quickly averted his gaze before Jim could catch him watching, fixing his eyes steadily on his own datapad. This happened several times over the next hour, until, eventually, Spock did not hear Jim jolt back to awareness and chanced a glance upwards.

Jim's head seemed to have finally made its way down to the desk, his face buried in the crook of his arm. Spock watched warily for a few more moments until he was certain that Jim was well asleep, both his respiration and heart rate at a slow tempo, before unfolding himself from his seat and setting his own work down quietly on the table.

He crossed the room silently and gently slid the PADD from Jim's hand, placing it neatly on the top of a stack of unfinished documents. Jim shifted slightly, grumbling incoherently into his forearm, and Spock waited until he had settled back down before reaching into his pocket and running McCoy's tricorder carefully over Jim.

After confirming that all was well with the captain, physically, at least, Spock stood back and considered the sleeping man solemnly. There was a slight flush to what little of Jim's face he could see and a sheen of sweat beneath his hairline as he shifted again, rubbing absently at his sternum.

"Computer," Spock said quietly. "Lower room temperatures by five degrees Celsius." It was not a preferred temperature for his particular physiology, Spock acknowledged, though it would be beneficial to Jim given his current physical state. The air felt marginally cooler already as he contemplated this, and Spock suppressed his own discomforted response. Satisfied by his actions, Spock returned to his post at the table and picked up his work once more.

Presently, his communicator beeped at his waist, and Spock answered quickly before any further noise could awaken the captain.

_"Commander Spock, we have received an urgent transmission from Starfleet."_

Spock glanced up warily at Jim, who did not appear to have been disturbed by the call, and deliberately thumbed down the volume on his communicator before redirecting his attention to the message. "Proceed."

"_They have news, sir, regarding the recent planetside incident." _There was a short pause, in which the officer at the other end took a deep breath before continuing, _"It concerns the terrorists."_

_.._

_.._

_**-Lyrics to A Hero Can Save Us (c) Nickelback**_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys, thanks as always for the awesome reviews- you really make our day, so keep feeding the plot bunnies :) We'd love to know what you think and if you'd like to see more of this. Anything flies, constructive criticisms, thoughts and theories, polysyllabic screeching...I respond to anything and everything, NO WORRIES. A simple "hi, I'm reading your story" will have me rolling on the ground in excitement, so don't hold back hahaha. Again, you guys are awesome, and we hope you enjoy this chapter!**

..

~Chapter V~

"Captain."

He stirred, rising groggily out of sleep. "Urghhmm?"

"Captain." The voice was more insistent this time, as well as the firm hand shaking his shoulder. Jim opened his eyes irritably, rising fully to consciousness. "Spock, what the-"

"We have managed to apprehend the terrorists, Captain."

Jim sat straight up, his neck popping in complaint at the movement. The room's lights were dimmed- Spock's doing, he suspected- and the Vulcan himself was standing beside him. "The criminals were brought aboard the _Enterprise_ approximately three point five minutes ago," Spock informed him, clasping his hands behind his back once more as he made his report.

"_They're here?"_ Jim rubbed hard at his eyes, willing himself back to full awareness. He felt like he'd had the longest dream, but he couldn't remember it for the life of him.

Spock inclined his head. "Affirmative, sir. They await your judgment in the brig."

"All right." Jim pushed himself up from the desk, wiping at a spot of drool from its surface subtly with his sleeve. Spock stepped back, allowing him to lead the way out of from his quarters. The doors hissed shut behind Jim's heels, and he stopped in bewilderment.

The corridor was completely dark, without the illumination of even the emergency lighting. He turned and fumbled back for his doors, but his fingers met empty space. "Spock?" he called out uncertainly, trepidation building rapidly with every heartbeat.

Silence.

He turned around again blindly, nearly tripping over his own feet, and stepped forward hesitantly, arms outstretched to avoid bashing into a wall. There was a light ahead, he saw now, a thin flickering line about ten feet away. He made for it with increasing confidence, then stopped when he felt a smooth surface against his hand, chipped and flaking with paint that he could suddenly see-

He reached down and turned the doorknob.

The door swung open silently. He stepped through the doorway into a small room, half-filled by a counter and a rickety wooden table. A lamp swung overhead, but the light was off, and the sky outside the screened window was looming with dark storm clouds. Rain lashed harshly against the glass in heavy sheets, drumming on the roof overhead.

The door closed behind him, and the floor beneath his feet vibrated as a rumble of thunder shook the skies. Jim felt eerily calm, looking around the kitchen steadily. There was the crayon scribbling on the wallpaper that he had left when he was five, the ugly sunflower apron he had always hated was hanging over its usual peg, and by the closed back door to his left was a line of discarded shoes.

It was his house, or, at least, the house he had grown up in.

The kitchen had been empty when he entered, but as Jim looked around again, he saw a figure seated at the kitchen table facing him. The figure's back was to the window, and their face was obscured from his sight.

As he neared the table, the figure shifted in and out of focus, until he found himself recognizing, with a startled lurch to his stomach, the silhouette of the man that he had seen in the ruins seconds before his capture. The terrorist. For a blurry moment, he thought he could make out the man's face, all cold eyes and grim frown-

Then he took one more step, and it was his mother looking out at him, her slender frame clad in the desert fatigues of the terrorists.

"Hello, Jimmy," she said quietly. There was no gray in her hair, no lines at the corners of her eyes. She was as young and ethereal as his vaguest memories of her, and when he blinked again, the fatigues had been replaced by the soft pastel colors she preferred, the sleeves of her loose sweater rolled up to her elbows.

"Mom," he started to say, uncertainly.

She smiled at him, but her eyes were cold. "It's your fault, you know."

There was a pang in the center of his chest, deep and piercing. He winced reflexively, touching his sternum gingerly. There was a frantic pulsing there, fast and insistent.

_"...one...two...three...four...five...six...seven, breathe, Jim."_

"Why are you here?" he asked. He could feel an aching pressure in his chest now, and he wanted nothing more than for it to go away-"

"You know why." The sound of her voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of pounding rain, but her eyes were steady and cutting. "You know what you did."

_"Hang on, Jim-"_

"What...what did I do?" he asked, dreading the answer and needing to know all the same.

_"Clear!"_

Lightning flashed, and his body jolted with a numbing impact, sending him staggering back against the wall. He clutched at his chest, wheezing and gasping for air as the last shocks jerked through him. His chest felt tight and heavy, as if something was weighing down on his ribs.

She seemed to be waiting for something, sitting there watching him with glittering eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. As he slowly pushed from the wall and stumbled towards the table again, she leaned forward, her hands flat on the table. Behind her, the window suddenly shattered, and the storm swept in through the broken shards.

_"Jim, open your eyes."_

"What...did I do?" he repeated hoarsely.

Her lips tilted again in that empty smile, her eyes like mirrors.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't see for the raindrops lashing his face-

"You were born."

Another hard jolt shook through him, merciless in its intensity-

_"Now, Captain!"_

..

His eyes snapped open, vision flickering black at the edges. He drew in a shuddering gasp, his heart pounding and skipping wildly against his ribs. His chest felt too tight, it hurt, and he couldn't breathe-

Spock looked up sharply as Jim began to thrash in his bed, choking out half-formed nonsense as he clawed at the sheets. Spock made his way hastily over to the man and bent over just as Jim sat up abruptly, his hand swinging out wildly and inadvertently clipping Spock's jaw in the process. Ignoring the dull throb, the Vulcan calmly caught his wrist before he could land another blow, holding him firmly still. "Jim."

Jim stared at him with wide eyes that were not completely focused, still half lost in his dreams. His shoulders were heaving, his breath coming in short pants that were increasing in desperation. "I-" he gasped, clearly struggling to breathe. "I can't-"

Spock put a hand up automatically as Jim instinctively began to curl in on himself, pushing his palm against Jim's sternum to keep him upright. "Jim, breathe," he instructed.

Jim wheezed, clearly struggling for air. His eyes were still glazed with panic, his pupils dilated as he struggled to get away from Spock. "No-"

"Jim, you must calm-" Spock ducked another swinging blow from Jim's free hand. "Jim," he said again, with increasing frustration. The man did not appear to hear him, or perhaps he could not, but something, Spock decided, must be done.

The Vulcan found his gaze drawn to the hand he still held to Jim's chest to prevent him from collapsing, and was struck by an utterly irrational notion. But the time for logic was past, and he followed through instantly, pressing hard against Jim's sternum where he had administered the compressions barely sixty hours ago. Despite McCoy's care, the area could not possibly be completely devoid of sensitivity yet-

Jim coughed harshly, his eyes flickering in shock. Spock pressed his hand reflexively harder against Jim's chest, rubbing in small circles in an effort to reassure him. Jim shook at his touch, his free hand coming up and grabbing Spock's wrist- not to pull him away, but to keep his hand in place.

Spock stilled, feeling the rapid pounding of Jim's heart beneath his palm. It seemed dangerously fast, and he shifted slightly, half intending to fetch the tricorder, but Jim clung to him tightly, his eyes growing wild as he perceived Spock's intent. "No," he rasped feverishly, his fingers shaking where they locked around Spock's wrist. "Don't."

Spock paused, then sat down on the edge of the bed instead, ignoring the awkward twist of the position as he did so. Jim's ragged breaths were gradually smoothing out, he noted, though the tremor remained in his hands and shoulders. Spock released Jim's other wrist tentatively and watched as his hand fell limply to his side, fingers curling into the sheets.

He reached automatically for Jim's psi-points with his now free hand, knowing the relief a meld would offer, and then hesitated, changing his course to grip the man's shoulder instead. Jim shuddered, taking in a shaking breath, and visibly relaxed, slumping forward until his head leaned heavily against Spock's shoulder. Gradually, Jim's breathing began to ease further, evening out until there was only the slightest hint of a hitch.

"How…" Jim's voice cracked and he cleared his throat self-consciously. "How did I even get in bed?"

"You are a turbulent sleeper," Spock said dryly. "Upon realizing the damage you had dealt to your surrounding area, I made a practical judgment to relocate you to a safer location."

Jim huffed in slight amusement. There was a short pause, during which Jim seemed to come abruptly to his senses and pulled away sharply, dropping Spock's hand from his chest instantly as if the contact was physically painful.

Spock shifted on the bed, not without a certain degree of awkwardness, as Jim untangled himself from the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, searching out his shoes.

"What happened while I was…." Jim trailed off vaguely, deliberately avoiding Spock's gaze.

"Starfleet has sent their latest report on the search for the terrorists," Spock answered, drawing back into his professionalism. "They are currently pursuing a possible lead on their location from a contact on Sumiko IV."

Jim nodded absently. "Good. Ah." He hesitated a moment, glancing quickly at Spock before fixing his gaze on the floor once more. "I'd appreciate it if...if you didn't tell Bones about-" he searched valiantly for a fitting description and concluded with a helpless gesture "-_that_."

Spock frowned disapprovingly, "Captain, the Chief Medical Officer should be informed if you are suffering from-"

"I'm not _suffering _from anything," Jim snapped. "Just don't…don't tell him. Promise," he added fiercely, turning his head to stare directly at Spock. "Promise me you won't."

Spock opened his mouth uncertainly, but before he could speak, a burst of static suddenly erupted over the intercom, loud and crackling. Jim startled visibly, looking up in shock. "What the-"

"_Sir, they're locked onto our signal."_

The voice over the ship's intercoms was cracked and faded, swelling oddly in volume. Spock tilted his head, the wording and voice eerily familiar. Beside him, Jim had gone very still, his head raised attentively.

"_They're launching again!"_

Spock suddenly recalled where he had once heard this particular exchange, years ago while reviewing a certain dissertation. "Is this not..." he began, only to be shushed absently by Jim, who was frowning slightly in concentration as he listened intently. His eyes were widening now in growing realization, his jaw setting as the words became clear.

"_Bravo-six maneuver fire full…"_

A smattering of booming impacts overwhelmed the rest of the sentence, but Jim knew that voice as surely as he knew his own. His chest went abruptly cold, his thumping heart stuttering almost to a clear halt.

"_I'm initiating General Order Thirteen. We're evacuating_," said his father.

Jim stood abruptly, his face closed and guarded. "Bridge," he said shortly, immediately stripping off his casual shirt and tossing it aside in lieu of his uniform. As he dressed, Spock commed the bridge, speaking as soon as Lieutenant Uhura answered. "Lieutenant, the transmission-"

"_I can't stop it, Spock. There's nothing I can do from my end- something's locked onto our ship-wide systems. Is Jim-"_

"We will be there soon," Spock said quietly, and ended the call.

"_All decks, this is the Captain speaking: Evacuate the ship immediately. Get down to the shuttlecrafts. Repeat, evacuate immediately…"_

Jim flinched unconsciously and turned to Spock, now dressed. "Let's go."

The corridors, bathed in flashing red lights, were filled with crew members rushing left and right, most of them managing to register and salute the two of them as they ran towards the turbolift. Jim was slightly ahead of Spock, and what the Vulcan could see of his face, he did not like. In his distraction, Spock almost missed the urgent beeping at his waist and startled back to awareness, answering the call as they approached the lift.

It was McCoy, obviously breathless with exertion and worry as he all but shouted, _"Spock, where the hell are you two?! Jim's not answering-"_

"We are approximately twenty-five seconds away from arrival, Doctor," Spock said tersely. "I presume you are already present at the bridge?"

_"What do you think?"_ McCoy snapped, then after a second's pause, asked, _"How's the kid?"_

Spock took a moment to eye Jim's tense demeanor apprehensively, his posture rigid and defensive as he jabbed at the button to summon the lift. "I am...uncertain," he answered after some deliberation.

"_Damn it,"_ McCoy mumbled, his voice distant as if he was already pulling away. "_It's not right, him hearing it for the first time like this..._" The comm ended with a definite click.

The lift, fortunately, was still functional, despite the substantially dimmed lighting. Jim kept a hand on the controls the entire way up, stabbing at the button repeatedly. Spock thought to tell him that it would do little good, but one glance at Jim's expression kept him silent.

"_I need you to go now, do you hear me?"_

"_Waiting on you, sir-"_

"_No, just go. Take off immediately. That's an order."_

"Come on," Jim muttered suddenly, his hand clenching on the controls. "Come on, come on, come _on_!" His foot lashed out, kicking the wall angrily and eliciting a reproachful beep from the control panel. Spock glanced over at Jim wordlessly, unwilling to intrude and yet reluctant to let him continue in such a volatile manner. He made a tentative move in Jim's direction, then stopped as the lift arrived with a quiet chime.

"_No, wait. We can't go yet. Please, stop-"_

"_Sweetheart, listen to me."_

The doors opened at last to a flurry of breaking chaos upon the deck. Consoles and alerts were beeping and flashing, the same red light painting the corridors swathing everything in an ominous glow. Uhura was the first to catch sight of them, half-rising from her seat with a stricken expression. "Captain, I'm so sorry-"

_"I'm not going to be there." _

Jim!" McCoy strode over, his face dark with concern, and reached instinctively to grasp Jim's arm. "Are you-"

Jim brushed past him without a word, heading for the communications station. Maybe he could do something, _anything_, to stop this-

"Captain-" Uhura tried again, her voice hitching slightly, but he ignored her. Spock caught her elbow lightly with his fingertips and looked down at her, and she subsided reluctantly, eyes moistened with sympathy.

"_No, no- you need to be here- George, I can't do this without you-"_

His mother's voice trembled and rose in panic, and Jim felt his stomach lurch in response. "Damn it, come on!" he growled, flipping at switches with desperate speed. "This isn't happening-"

"_Okay, I need you to push now."_

A pain-filled cry shuddered overhead, and Jim's shoulders tensed as he leaned over the console, all but punching its controls in his efforts to stop the transmission. Another cry shook the air, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, muttering under his breath. Beside Spock, McCoy made an aborted effort to say something, barely catching himself in time and swallowing hard.

"Somebody turn this damn thing off!" Jim burst out exasperatedly, slamming his hands down on the console forcefully.

"Captain, the recording is running from an outside source," Sulu attempted valiantly from his station. "We cannot-"

Jim whirled around, eyes blazing with something verging on desperation. "There's gotta be _something _we can do!"

Moments later, the thin wailing of a child could be heard over the distant sound of explosions and firing. There was a flurry of glances directed Jim's way by various members of the bridge crew, but he did not make any indication of acknowledging them. He pushed away from the console, making his way slowly towards his command chair, as the sound of his first cries echoed over the intercom.

The bridge grew deathly still, appearing almost surreal under the flashing red lights.

"_What is it?"_ asked his father, breathless and somewhat hopeful.

"_It's a boy."_

"_A boy! Tell me about him."_

"_He's beautiful."_

Jim could feel a lump rising unbidden in his throat as he leaned his elbows against the back of the chair and lowered his head in resignation, dragging his fingers through his hair helplessly.

Behind him, Spock looked at McCoy, who spared him the briefest of glances before returning his concerned gaze to Jim.

"_I wish you could be here."_

Jim could hear his heartbeat pulsing ponderously in his chest and felt it stumble at his mother's words. She had sounded so _sure_, so genuine, but it was the pleading he heard in her voice that nearly broke him.

"_What are we going to call him?"_

"_We can name him after your father," _she said almost casually, trying to be strong even as she faltered.

There was a breathless laugh, which held more panic than humor. "_Tiberius? Are you kidding me? No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad." _His father's voice wavered. _"Let's call him Jim."_

There was a light brush of contact at his shoulder, and he looked up to see Spock standing at his side, just as he had always done. Jim stared at him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of gratitude for the Vulcan's presence. He felt his eyes sting and blur, and turned his gaze away quickly.

His mother seemed to contemplate the name for a moment, clearly repeating it silently to herself before murmuring it aloud, like a benediction.

"_Jim. Okay. Jim it is."_

Jim closed his eyes, hearing the next words but barely registering them. He knew all too well how this would end.

"_Sweetheart, can you hear me?"_

"_I can hear,"_ she gasped, desperately clinging to his voice.

"_I love you so much. I love you-"_

The recording ended abruptly with a hissing static that echoed and rang through the bridge and the crowded corridors throughout the ship, before that too stopped and silence swelled deafeningly in its place. Jim felt numb in the empty moments that followed, distantly aware of the prickling of gazes all around him.

Spock shifted imperceptibly so that he was turned towards Jim, shielding him from the brunt of the stares, and leaned in slightly to speak quietly. "Captain," he began carefully, and his low voice snapped Jim back to reality. "What is your proposed course of action at this time?"

Jim hesitated a moment longer, drawing in a shaky breath as he struggled to regain his composure. He blinked away the moisture threatening to rebuild at the corners of his eyes and forced everything, all the hurt and sorrow and anger, to the back of his mind where it belonged.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said finally, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. He turned to face her, and noted dimly the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Are you...are you able to confirm that the communications systems is clear of foreign interference?" His voice cracked briefly before he could recover, and he cursed himself weakly for it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spock was still looking at him silently, the intensity of his gaze nearly tangible.

Uhura stared at him for a moment, then nodded and furiously swiped at her eyes. "Yes, sir, I'll get right on it." She sat down at her console, fingers already flying across the interfaces, and gradually, the bridge began returning to its usual, if noticeably more subdued, bustle.

Jim finally allowed some of the tension in his shoulders to ease slightly, slumping back against the chair where he stood. He caught McCoy's eye, the doctor offering him a tight, worried smile from beside the door before starting towards him. Spock shifted again beside him, so that their shoulders brushed briefly once more in a suspiciously intentional move, and for a moment, Jim felt...safe.

Suddenly, the bridge was plunged into complete darkness, every screen and console blacking out. Jim felt disoriented for a split second, surrounded by a whirlwind of confused exclamations and clattering as datapads were sent tumbling to the floor. He felt Spock's hand grasp his elbow, steadying him before he could inevitably stumble, and before he could offer a word of gratitude, the lights were flickering back on, illuminating the pale, bewildered faces of the crew.

"What..." Jim began slowly, "the hell-"

"Captain," Uhura said, and her voice held a certain apprehension that Jim had never heard from her before. "Sir, we're being hailed."

..


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi, guys, thanks for sticking with us for so long, it's about to get crazy up in here so hang on tight. Thanks for all your reviews, you're all AWESOME and we never get tired of reading them, so keep them coming! **

**Thanks to the lovely HyenaGreyScale for beta work, as always :)**

..

~Chapter VI~

_Suddenly, the bridge was plunged into complete darkness, every screen and console blacking out. Jim felt disoriented for a split second, surrounded by a whirlwind of confused exclamations and clattering as datapads were sent tumbling to the floor. He felt Spock's hand grasp his elbow, steadying him before he could inevitably stumble, and before he could offer a word of gratitude, the lights were flickering back on, illuminating the pale, bewildered faces of the crew._

_"What..." Jim began slowly, "the hell-"_

_"Captain," Uhura said, and her voice held a certain apprehension that Jim had never heard from her before. "Sir, we're being hailed."_

..

"Your orders, Captain," Spock prompted quietly.

Jim hesitated a split second, then sat down in his command chair. "Patch it through, Uhura, and get me a trace on the coordinates."

"Yes, sir."

The screen suddenly flickered, and a face snapped into focus at the forefront of the bridge. The man looked to be middle-aged, the stark whiteness of his nondescript clothing emphasizing his tanned skin and short, silver-touched hair. His sharp features were worn slightly by age, though time had done nothing to diminish the heavy air of danger lurking about him, and Jim felt a chill as he recognized the cold gray eyes, the grim set of the mouth of the terrorist he had encountered on the planet. "You," he heard himself say, his voice hard.

"Hello, Captain Kirk," the terrorist said smoothly. He had an odd voice, cultured, accentless, and not at all what Jim would have expected from a deranged vigilante. "I believe we've met?"

"I think I recall," Jim said coolly. "Didn't catch that name, though."

The man studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. "My name is Cetus. I am...pleased to see you again."

Jim raised an eyebrow sardonically. "That your actual name, or just what you're called?"

"My people call me Commander, but a name can be whatever you make of it. I'm not limited to merely one, in any case. Did you enjoy our greeting?" the man said graciously**, **spreading a hand in a manner that was clearly indicating the recording, and Jim felt his stomach clench at the reminder.

"How kind of you," Jim responded, narrowing his eyes slightly. There was a light touch at his shoulder, and he didn't need to look up to realize who had moved forward to stand at his side. He felt himself unconsciously relax as Spock moved closer, his silent presence inexplicably calming.

"It all began with the _Kelvin_, you know," Cetus continued, almost conversationally. He did not have a face fit for smiling, and the calculated twitch at the corner of his mouth didn't come close to reaching his eyes. But there was something else about him that didn't sit right with Jim- he seemed too...indifferent, too detached, as if everything was somehow below his notice. "Our cause."

"And what is that?" Jim asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. The longer he stalled, the longer Uhura had to locate this crazy bastard.

"It won't work," the man said, as if he had read Jim's mind. "Our location is shielded from your locators, Captain. There is no use in attempting to trace this transmission." He smiled then, his eyes blank. "We will speak for as long as I deem it necessary."

"Damn it," McCoy swore softly nearby, and Jim didn't miss the tension in his voice.

Jim forced himself to calm down, to take a deep breath and look at this professionally. "You hacked into our systems," he said. "Why?"

Another magnanimous gesture. "A conversation between us is long overdue, don't you think, Kirk? This way, I can ensure your full attention. After all, your life support systems are in the palm of my hand." He raised a thin gray remote, waving it tantalizingly before the screen. "Quite literally, in this case."

"You're insane," Jim burst out. "There's four hundred people-"

"Four hundred and thirty, in fact. So you better listen closely." Cetus leaned forward, and his gray eyes swallowed the screen. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the _Kelvin_. The anniversary is arriving swiftly, no? In a mere three days, I believe." He watched Jim for a moment before continuing benevolently, "Please, allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations on the occasion of your birth."

Jim tensed, on the verge of rising from his seat. "You son of a-"

"I'd watch my words, if I were you," the man admonished. "There are over four hundred lives in the balance, after all." Jim subsided, seething, and the terrorist continued, "The _Kelvin_ incident was the final push to an already crumbling tower. You saw the city on that Klingon planet- it too stood firm once, but nothing can withstand the winds of time."

"How poetic."

"Captain, please," the man sighed, but his eyes were hard and pale as ice. "Starfleet began weaponizing two weeks after the death of your father, but the corruption began long before with the exponential progress of modern technology. The _Kelvin_ merely served as a public justification. The peacekeeping goals of your organization took second place to the name of justice, but it was a false front." Cetus tilted his head consideringly. "How do you suppose that planet ended up as it is? Barren and dry and lifeless?

Jim licked his lips unconsciously. "If you're suggesting….if you're saying that _Starfleet_-"

"The world is large," Cetus said mercilessly, "but there are always more worlds, Kirk."

Jim pressed, "There's no proof-"

"Do you truly believe that they would have left any evidence intact?"

"No." Jim shook his head in denial, forcing himself to remain seated despite his agitation. "No, you're wrong."

The terrorist lifted a shoulder dismissively. "It matters not what you believe, only what is true. In any case, Starfleet is rotting from the inside out, and men like me who truly love their world will stop them at all costs."

"And men like _me_," Jim snapped heatedly, "will always stop you."

"Hmm. I see a sense of foolish loyalty runs in the family." Cetus studied him for a moment, then asked casually, "How is your mother?"

Jim felt a slow burn of anger deep in his gut and lifted his chin defiantly. "She died three years ago."

Cetus tilted his head knowingly, his smirk reaching his eyes for the first time, and the sight made Jim's heart falter slightly in apprehension. "It must have been a beautiful funeral."

Jim saw red for a blazing second, and was suddenly aware that Spock's hand had moved to his shoulder, his fingers tightening warningly. He took a deep breath, leaning back into his seat and concentrating on that one stabilizing point of contact.

"To business, then, now that the pleasantries are aside. I have a simple request, one that only requires you to answer truthfully." Cetus watched him carefully as he spoke, spinning the remote idly in his hand.

Jim eyed it warily. "And if I don't?"

The spinning stopped. The man examined the remote with feigned interest before flicking his eyes back to Jim. "I imagine that it will be rather uncomfortable for you. Tell me, have you ever seen a man freeze and suffocate simultaneously?"

Jim schooled his expression determinedly, despite the sudden fear coiling in his chest. He said nothing, and eventually the other man sighed and blinked at Jim consideringly. "You look remarkably well, Captain, for a man under your previous circumstances."

"No thanks to you," Jim shot back, his hands tightening on the armrests. "Nasty thing, that bomb."

"Ah, yes." The man sat back in his own chair, steepling his fingers and gazing at Jim with slight annoyance. "You know, I was quite proud of that particular device. An ingenious machine, if I say so myself. Completely failproof."

"Well, as you can see," Jim spread his arms out pointedly, "it's clearly not."

"About that." The man's voice deepened, and Jim realized that under the subtle elegance hid a jagged blade. "I am curious as to how you managed to escape that particular….predicament."

Jim said nothing, and behind him, McCoy shifted uneasily. "Wouldn't you like to know," he said at last, his mind racing.

Cetus pressed his lips together, and the remote began its casual revolutions again. "I am a very busy man, Captain Kirk, with very little patience for games. Now tell me, how did you disable the device?"

"Captain," Spock said quietly, urgently, and Jim felt a burst of panic as the terrorist's fingers poised over the remote threateningly. He suddenly found himself standing, the chair swiveling slightly from the force of his movement. "You-"

"If you do not respond satisfactorily in three minutes, I will press this button here and your crew will die a slow, horrific death at your own hands," Cetus said bluntly, leaning forward once more. "It's not so difficult a decision, not if you're half the man I believe you to be."

"You don't know me," Jim said adamantly, but a chill of dread had already begun to settle within him at the terrorist's words.

"I know many men like you. You will tell me, I think." A satisfied smile touched the corners of his mouth as he settled back. "Two and a half minutes. Choose wisely."

"You can't," McCoy's voice suddenly muttered at his ear. A hand gripped his arm, pulling him so that he turned away from the screen. The doctor's eyes were wide with worry, his eyebrows drawn together. "You can't tell him, Jim, who knows what the hell he could do with that thing once he manages to perfect it?!"

Jim shook his head dazedly, his blood rushing in his ears. "Bones, he's got the ship-"

"Jim, listen to me!" McCoy growled, shaking him once roughly. "We all knew what we were getting into when we signed on- every single of us on this ship. If we die-"

"No-" Jim said emphatically.

"Look, we don't have time for this. If we die here, it'll be for the right cause. So for once in your life, do it for the bigger picture, Jim." McCoy squeezed his arm, then released it, his eyes fierce.

Jim was silent, counting the seconds. "I can't take that risk, Bones," he said finally, his voice hoarse.

"So you'd rather trust_ him_ over me?" McCoy hissed, jerking his chin pointedly at the screen. "You really think he'll let us go once you tell him?"

"One minute, Captain," the terrorist drawled out nonchalantly. "I trust that you've come to a sensible conclusion?"

Jim scanned McCoy's face for a moment longer. "I have," he finally replied, without turning. He glanced over at Spock briefly before facing the screen again. "The answer is no."

"That is most unfortunate," Cetus murmured, almost to himself. He studied Jim carefully, and nodded, seeming to accept what he saw.

Jim folded his hands behind his back and straightened, settling into the unfamiliar position with a strange ease before he realized what he was doing. Or rather, whom he was unknowingly imitating.

The terrorist exhaled thoughtfully. "A brave decision, Kirk, I will allow you that. Brave, but foolish, to think that it will make a difference." His eyes suddenly narrowed, and the relaxed politeness vanished as swiftly as if it had never existed. "Perhaps you require a little...persuasion in order to correct your error."

He raised the remote and pushed the button.

Jim realized what he was doing a second too late. "Stop it, damn it- what the hell will you accomplish by killing us?!"

"I imagine that you will begin to feel the effects presently," Cetus said calmly, disregarding Jim's protests entirely. "It will be no more than five minutes before you all succumb."

Jim's stomach dropped sickeningly.

"Perhaps you feel more forthcoming now?"

Jim turned to face Dr. Marcus' station and caught her eye meaningfully. He felt a rush of relief when the woman needed no further clarification and nodded quickly, already moving for the doors.

"There's nothing you can do, Captain," the man assured him, looking almost amused as the doors closed behind Marcus. "Your systems are completely locked. The only way to stop it now is to answer."

Jim spun around, glaring hatefully at the terrorist's blank face. "You'd condemn a whole ship to death?!"

The first indication of solid anger flashed briefly in those pale frozen eyes. "Do not forget, Kirk, that you too once condemned the crew of the _Vengeance_ to certain death yourself. Do you think that they received mercy as their ship burned around them? If they were dead before they struck the city, it would have been a blessing."

Jim faltered. "What's that got to do with this?"

The terrorist merely gazed at him silently, and Jim continued insistently, "You'd kill four hundred-"

"A life is a life. Do you think the mothers of five men would weep any less than the mothers of five hundred? Do you think I would have grieved any less for my brother if he had been in a crew of three hundred more?" The terrorist shook his head slowly. "He died honorably aboard the _Vengeance_, serving his cause in enemy territory, and that's something you shining officials, blinded as you are by your own light, will never understand. This device will change that, as soon as it's completed, and the corruption will burn away from within. Now tell me, _how did you disable it_?"

The air was already growing steadily colder, each breath thinner and harder to draw in. Jim could feel his fingertips numbing, his head swimming dizzily as he struggled to think, but it could have been the panic rather than the lack of oxygen that made his voice shake as he began, "I-"

"Jim, don't," McCoy warned.

"Four minutes, Captain. You will lose consciousness in two minutes. I propose that you speak quickly while you still can."

Jim stared at the screen helplessly, felt himself beginning to fall apart. He couldn't do it, couldn't let his crew die for this, but if that bomb was perfected….

He tried to speak, then coughed, his lungs straining for oxygen that was swiftly disappearing. There was a thin sheen of ice forming on the consoles, his breath pluming white in the freezing air.

"Three minutes."

"Captain," Spock said, his voice slightly strained as he struggled against the plummeting temperatures. "Do not-"

There was a dull thump, and Jim turned to see Chekov slumped over his console, shaking uncontrollably.

"Bones-" He looked over to see the doctor bend over, hands on his knees as he wheezed for air. "Bones!"

"Jim…"

"Two minutes."

His vision was flickering, hazy and blurry at the edges where blackness threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his knees meet the floor, but couldn't remember falling. He was so cold….he couldn't breathe-"

"It's a shame," the terrorist said, his voice distant and echoing, and he almost sounded disappointed. "I thought more of you."

Jim lifted his head with difficulty. He could see his crew suffering under the effects of the system failure, some shivering and some ominously still. He caught a glimpse of steely eyes before the screen once more, and struggled to say one last thing, one final shot, his lips numb- then the screen went abruptly black, as if to spite his efforts.

So this was it, Jim thought, as he gasped for air. After all this time….this would be it. He took one last breath, then paused suddenly, blinking.

He could breathe.

Pins and needles laced his fingers as the circulation gradually returned to them, the tightness in his chest dissipating as he took another breath, then another.

"The life support system is back online, Captain," Spock was the first to say, sounding not a little breathless himself as he reached over to steady McCoy.

Jim looked around, dazed, as his crew began to stir, the layer of frost on the consoles slowly melting away, leaving behind a glistening sheen of condensation as the climate controls were reestablished. He was relieved to see that everyone seemed to be conscious, if a little shaken and groggy from the whole ordeal.

"Uhura…" he rasped, when he finally found his voice, pushing himself shakily onto his feet. "The systems."

"Yes, sir." She reached for her headset with trembling fingers, flipping at the switches on her console. Suddenly, she froze, her eyes flicking across her monitors in bewilderment. "Captain, the terrorist- Cetus…"

"What is it?" Jim demanded, instantly back on alert. "Is he back?"

"No, Captain, that's just it. He's….he's gone."

"He's gone?" Jim repeated disbelievingly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Uhura shook her head helplessly. "Our system's clear, Captain, our control's been reinstated. The life support, communications….he's just...I can't explain it."

Jim frowned, still suspicious. "Keep running scans. _Something_ cleared him from our systems and I want to know what."

"Yes, sir, I-" She cut off abruptly, her hand pressed to her headset in confusion. "Captain, we're receiving another transmission."

Jim swore under his breath, then started as Spock touched his arm lightly to get his attention. "Captain, it is likely that whoever cleared the terrorists' influence from our systems is now attempting to contact us," he said quietly.

"I've taken that into consideration, Mr. Spock," Jim answered shortly, "and I've come to a decision. Patch it through, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

McCoy moved to intercept Jim as he headed for the command chair, stepping bodily into his path. "Jim, this whole thing could turn south. Whoever this is, they can't be good news."

Jim brushed past him impatiently, settling down in his seat. "Can't be worse than that nutcase, Bones. I think I'll take my chances."

"You honestly think a Good Samaritan would pluck those terrorists out of our system from the goodness of their hearts? These people could be _worse_, for all we-"

"Patching through now, Captain," Uhura interrupted. All eyes turned towards the screen as it fizzled and sparked into focus, but instead of a face appearing as he had expected, a concise body of white text scrolled across the black background from right to left in plain typeface.

**Africa. South America.**

_No. It couldn't be_. He saw Spock stiffen slightly out of the corner of his eye.

**Europe. North America. Australia.**

There was a brief pause, and Jim was suddenly aware that he had stopped breathing. Then, one final word.

**Perseus.**

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**A/N: Hang in there, guys, we know you've got questions, especially about that ending, and they'll all be answered in time, so keep reading! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey, guys! Thanks for leaving your comments, we love reading them, and here we are again, shamelessly asking for reviews because your feedback is everything! Thanks again, and we hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

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~Chapter VII~

"_Patching through now, Captain," Uhura interrupted. All eyes turned towards the screen as it fizzled and sparked into focus, but instead of a face appearing as he had expected, a concise body of white text scrolled across the black background from right to left in plain typeface._

_**Africa. South America.**_

_No. It couldn't be. He saw Spock stiffen slightly __out of the corner of his eye._

_**Europe. North America. Australia.**_

_There was a brief pause, and Jim was suddenly aware that he had stopped breathing. Then, one final word._

_**Perseus.**_

..

Jim stared blankly at the screen, a strange ringing permeating his ears. He was suddenly dizzy, his heart racing in his chest, and it was a second before he could even begin to talk himself into breathing. In the end, he only managed to do so with difficulty, his throat closing reflexively as he tried to inhale.

"Captain?" Spock's voice seemed to come from somewhere distant, a trace of concern detectable within his usually calm tone.

Jim blinked hard, forcing himself to snap out of it, and pushed himself out of his chair. "I- I need to go-"

"Jim?" McCoy was in his way again, and Jim stumbled around him.

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn," he managed to remember, before swiftly exiting the bridge.

After a few seconds, the crew finally dared to turn towards each other, looking anxiously in the direction of their departed captain. Spock stared consideringly at the closed doors, then cast a sideways glance at McCoy, who looked back with an expression of unmasked concern.

A moment later, the Vulcan gave a determined nod, and turned his head towards their navigator pointedly. "Mr. Chekov, you have the conn."

…

Jim broke the seal off the bottle of whiskey, hefting it thoughtfully in his hand. He had been saving it for a special occasion, but now he found that he could hardly care less. He poured himself a generous portion, watching the amber liquid swirl in his glass with a strange numbness, then tipped the bottle once more and topped off the glass before picking it up. His quarters were silent, echoing the heavy hollowness that now resided in his chest, and even his heartbeat seemed to be reduced to nothing more than a dull ache.

He tilted his head back and downed half the glass in two swallows, grimacing slightly as the whiskey burned a trail down to his stomach.

There was a buzz at his door and he ignored it, taking another gulp and blinking as his eyes watered. Another insistent buzz, and he unlocked the doors with an impatient gesture, downing the rest of his drink and reaching for the bottle again.

McCoy and Spock strode in, the doctor leading the way and stopping short when he saw Jim pouring steadily into his glass. "Jim-"

"Not a good time, Bones," he rasped mindlessly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol gradually settle in.

"What was that all about up there? You ran off like you'd seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost," Jim mumbled, and he raised the glass again. McCoy reached out and caught the back of his wrist, lowering his hand back down to the table. "Easy there," he said warningly.

Jim stared wordlessly down at the table, blinking at the steady pressure of McCoy's fingers, and said nothing. After another moment of silence, the doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Jim...about that recording..."

"Don't we have more pressing matters to discuss, Bones?" Jim interrupted, more sharply than he had intended.

McCoy frowned defensively. "I was just going to say, if you need someone to talk to about this, then, you know. We're here. When and if you're ready. That's all."

Jim shook his head once, but it seemed like a more automatic response than an intentional gesture, and pulled his hand away from McCoy's abruptly, taking the glass with him. "You know something, Bones?" he asked, with a disarming casualness.

"What, Jim?" McCoy replied warily. Jim stared at him, feeling a peculiar buzz in his veins. He wasn't drunk at all, by any means, but it was as though something in him had finally snapped and he was watching everything happen through a distant haze.

"I never cried after I heard my mother was dead, you know that? Not once. Not at her funeral...not even when I was on my own." He fell silent, watching them take it in, Spock blinking slowly and McCoy looking slightly taken aback.

"Jim…"

Jim pointed at Spock with his newly filled glass, feeling oddly careless as he stared at the Vulcan. "He knows." He turned his head to regard McCoy again. "But you don't. Well, you do now, of course." He shrugged and raised his glass to his lips, then paused, gazing into the shimmering liquid as something nudged vaguely at his consciousness. "You think that makes me a bad son?" Without waiting for an answer, he tipped his head and drained half the whiskey in one go, swaying slightly at the surge of lightheadedness that followed.

When he looked up again, he found that Spock was staring at him, and there was something oddly exposed about his expression that Jim couldn't quite identify.

"I think that's enough now, kid," McCoy said firmly, stepping forward and reaching for the drink.

Jim stiffened, then suddenly threw the glass at the wall in frustration. It shattered with a crash, and he watched with a twinge of satisfaction as the amber liquid gradually made its way down the wall, trickling among the broken shards. "Don't you get it? I felt _nothing_-" His voice broke, and he stared at the wall in silence. "Until I heard th-that recording. And I heard her voice...what she said…"

"The message in the last transmission," Spock said suddenly, his voice carefully neutral. "You are aware of its implications, I believe."

Jim turned, his gaze flicking to McCoy before settling on his first officer warningly.

"The code," Spock continued. "I do not recall 'Perseus' as a key phrase."

"It's not," Jim muttered distractedly, running a hand through his hair.

"What code?" McCoy demanded. "Will someone just-"

Spock silenced him with a single look as Jim turned, glancing at the globe sitting innocuously on the table behind him. He felt almost eerily calm, now that he knew what he had to do. After all, the only way to find out for sure was to try.

He hadn't personally touched the thing in months, and he traced the edges of the continents hesitantly with a fingertip. The pattern came easily to him, a part of his childhood that had never gone away, and he spun the globe with a casual flick, pressing his fingers against the smooth surface.

Africa. South America. Europe. North America. Australia.

The globe split, the stars pouring out, and Jim quickly realized, as the vast universe filled his quarters once again, that he would never tire of the sight. It didn't matter that Spock had unlocked the globe only hours ago, the nostalgia hit hard every time. The familiar swirls and galaxies spiraled out around him, pulled by their constant orbits. He remembered each of them, could even name them all at one point-

There was a sudden intake of air from McCoy, and Jim looked over in time to see an overzealous planet spin swiftly past the doctor's head and circle the ceiling effortlessly. He watched with a hint of amusement at the pure awe evident in his friend's expression, the man turning in place as he struggled to take it all in.

"Jim...this is incredible," McCoy eventually breathed. "Where did you...?"

"My mother," he murmured, a cold edge slicing into his chest as he spoke.

Perseus. He didn't think she would have remembered.

_"Which one's that?"_

_Her larger hand enveloped his smaller one, guiding it across the glossy page. "That's Perseus, Jimmy."_

_"What's a Per...per..."_

_"Perseus," she repeated, a laugh in her voice, her golden hair brushing his cheek as she leaned over him. "The Hero."_

"The Hero," he muttered absently under his breath. A star crossed his vision, white and glowing, and he stared at it before it eventually drifted off. That had been one of the good days, one of the better memories he had of her, but that had all been before she started leaving again.

_"Mom, don't go!"_

_"Jimmy, honey..." She bent and untangled his hands from her skirt, wiping gently at his teary face. "I'll be back in a week, baby, I promise."_

_"But I'll miss you."_

_"I won't be gone. Not really. I'll be in the stars, remember?" She smiled at him. "With Perseus. He's your favorite, right?"_

"-Jim."

He blinked hard and turned, catching Spock's and McCoy's gazes across the glittering expanse. His lower lip stung, the sharp taste of copper bursting on his tongue, and he frowned when he realized he had bitten himself inadvertently. He reached up, wiping away the smear of blood on the back of his hand, only to see Spock staring at him with a knowing look.

Jim glanced away swiftly, trying to ignore the throbbing in his lip. "The stars." he said instead, his mind struggling to make the connection that he knew was there. "He was my favorite."

"Favorite _what_?" McCoy asked anxiously, flinching as a supernova flared too close to his face.

"A constellation," Spock realized first.

Another star whirled by, caught by the gravity of a black hole, and Jim found himself staring at it as it twisted and vanished. "Perseus," he said quietly, his voice resounding strangely among the swirling galaxies.

The universe abruptly shuddered around him, every star halting instantly as if frozen in place. McCoy let out an exclamation of shock, stumbling backwards towards Spock and cursing when the Vulcan stepped away neatly to avoid him.

Jim felt more than a little disoriented himself as he looked dazedly around at the specks of color and light illuminating the air. A small maroon planet in front of him caught his eye, its pale blue rings tilted mid revolution. He extended a hand warily, expecting his fingers to pass through the orb, but to his surprise, there was a slight resistance against his skin and a faint tingling of energy before the planet suddenly burst like a soap bubble and disappeared.

As if the motion had triggered a chain reaction, the other planets began gradually disappearing, shrinking in on themselves rapidly and blinking away.

"Fascinating," Jim thought he heard Spock murmur as he cast an interested gaze at the vanishing spheres. Then, finally, only one planet remained, hovering halfway between Jim and McCoy at waist level.

It was a rusty shade of red, a single dust ring glittering faintly around its middle. Jim walked to it slowly, realizing with a bitter twist of irony that it was the same abandoned planet they had left three days ago. He recognized the deep whorls of crimson duststorms traversing slowly across the planet's surface, the two moons circling leisurely around the sphere. But there was something new, a white spot of light, pulsing in concentric ripples, and there was no doubt in his mind as to its meaning.

"_I won't be gone. Not really."_

"Here," he whispered as his throat tightened, his composure feeling precariously close to shattering under the sudden onslaught of emotions. He touched the planet lightly, and the image trembled beneath his fingertips. "She's here."

"Who?" McCoy asked tentatively.

"My mother," Jim replied, his words ringing oddly as he spoke.

"Jim," McCoy said, seeming reluctant to intrude, but determined in his own way. "I thought you said your mother-"

"She was cremated," Jim said absently, predicting McCoy's inevitable question. "There was no body at the funeral."

"Do you….do you think maybe she…?" McCoy trailed off awkwardly.

Jim looked up at him slowly. "What?"

Spock stepped forward as McCoy flailed silently. "Captain, the transmission could only have been sent by an individual who removed Cetus from our systems, someone who also knew the codes for the globe. Our best course of action would be to set a course for the coordinates-"

"Don't," Jim cut him off automatically, shaking his head. "Not yet. Let's...let's not jump to any conclusions, all right?"

"It is a logical assumption," Spock continued on determinedly. "The location indicated by the signal is within one hundred kilometers of the terrorist base where you were previously held. You cannot deny the coincidence."

"No." He needed to say it, needed to believe it just as desperately as he'd hoped he had been wrong about the code. When Spock didn't reply, Jim moved to turn off the globe, clicking the panels back into place and watching as the planet dissipated and vanished. As the last curls of light disappeared, he sank down into the chair behind him and lowered his head into his hands.

"Jim," Spock said after some time, his voice low, and Jim ignored him, trying to will away the headache forming behind his eyes. "We cannot put off this discussion. It is imperative that we reach a decision swiftly."

Jim finally looked up at him, a muscle in his jaw working tensely. "So what are you suggesting?"

Spock eyed him carefully for a moment before answering, his shoulders tensing as he locked his hands behind his back. "I would advise that, given the possibilities regarding the situation, you do not allow your emotions to overwhelm you, Captain."

Jim stared at him, his breathing growing ragged as he struggled to contain his anger. "Spare me the half-assed Vulcan logic, Spock. You're telling me that I haven't thought this through? That I'm too blinded by _emotion_ to see what's going on here?"

McCoy tried to interject, "Jim, that's not-"

"It was not my intention to imply so," Spock snapped, his own voice hardening slightly. "However, no matter what feelings you hold towards the matter, you must still be willing to see the possibility that what you believe you know about your mother may not be as it appears."

"Just say it!" Jim shouted, his voice cracking with the force of his rage as he jumped to his feet. "I know you want to, damn it, so stop with the _sympathy_," he spat out the last word, barely aware that McCoy was watching him with deep concern, or that Spock had gone still with shock or fury, "and just tell me!"

There was an icy silence that nobody seemed willing to shatter, Jim breathing heavily as he tried to rein himself back in. His heart hurt, and he wavered as he realized that there was nothing reassuring or safe about this pain.

"Very well," Spock said finally, his voice clinical and detached. "There is an undeniable possibility that your mother is affiliated with the terrorists, Jim, this much is evident. If she is still alive, as the evidence suggests, you must consider the legal implications."

McCoy shot Spock a vaguely disapproving glance, brows drawing together in a frown as Jim clenched his fists.

"She wouldn't," Jim said, his voice resolute. "I know her, Spock."

The Vulcan looked at him oddly, and Jim raised his chin defensively. "What?"

"I know you, Jim," Spock responded assuredly, "and I have seen her through your eyes. Can you truthfully claim, despite living without her for the majority of your life, that you knew Winona Kirk at all?"

There was another pause, Jim's expression flickering uncertainly as he struggled to reply. "If you think-" he said heatedly, but then stopped, a trace of hurt crossing his face as he realized there was nothing he could say. Beside him, McCoy looked incredulously at the Vulcan before returning his attention to Jim.

"We're finished here," Jim said at last with a weary edge to his voice. He hesitated, eyes wandering to the globe one final time, and turned towards the doors purposefully.

McCoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Where are you going?"

"The bridge. I've got work to do." He tried to make the words casual and was dimly aware of the telling tension in his voice.

Jim strode down the corridor, distantly acknowledging the flurry of footsteps behind him as Spock and McCoy followed him from his quarters. He reached the turbolift just as they caught up and turned, his expression carefully composed. Spock appeared to be somewhat conflicted, if the rigidness of his already stoic expression was any indication, and McCoy looked intensely exasperated by the whole situation, still breathing hard from their sprint down the corridor.

The lift started in silence, Jim's eyes fixed steadily ahead of him when he eventually spoke, "Send a report to Starfleet, Spock, detailing the recent events concerning Cetus. They're bound to have a file on that bastard."

"Yes, Captain," Spock said shortly.

"And..." Jim hesitated, glancing sidelong at Spock with a touch of discomfort. "Don't mention...Perseus. Not yet."

Spock stared at him silently, a gleam of disapproval in his eyes, and Jim sharpened his voice. "That's an order, Commander. Unless, of course, you feel the need to ignore this one, too. Seeing as you know all about me now."

There was a moment of tense silence before Spock's eyes narrowed and he moved his hand to the control panel, halting the lift in place.

McCoy grunted in surprise, just as taken aback by the gesture as Jim, who groaned in frustration as he turned impatiently towards the Vulcan. "You can't be serious," he protested.

"On the contrary, Captain, this is a very serious matter," Spock replied curtly.

Jim stepped back defensively, suddenly aware of how small the confines of the lift were and how close the two other men were standing to him. "Okay, this thing really shouldn't be _this_ easy to stop-"

"Jim, I believe that an apology is in order," Spock interjected, meeting his captain's gaze insistently to ensure that he had his full attention before proceeding. "I apologize for transgressing upon your privacy, despite the fact that the fault lies entirely within the parameters of your own actions, and therefore your recent antagonistic behavior towards me is nothing if not hypocritical in nature."

There was a short pause, during which Jim gaped in incredulity for several seconds and McCoy looked as if he was unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smirk. "You call that an apology?" Jim finally asked.

Spock's eye twitched imperceptibly, his chin tilting slightly upwards as he spoke, "Need I remind you, Captain, that it was neither my idea nor intent to initiate _cardiopulmonary resuscitation_ while you remained conscious?"

Jim glared, feeling a strain of exasperation. "Well, if it was such a terrible idea, why the hell did you go along with it?"

"It was to my understanding that there is a certain degree of trust in friendship, though perhaps you have yet to grasp it even now." While Jim registered the barb, Spock merely continued, "I allowed the plan to proceed, Jim, because I trusted that you were aware of your limits, but you are sorely mistaken if you believe that I am capable of enduring the sight of you in pain."

McCoy looked more shellshocked than amused now, glancing between the two of them nervously. Jim stared at his first officer, dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth uncertainly, then opening it again with renewed determination.

"You're right."

Spock visibly restrained his already prepared retaliation and blinked rapidly, giving him a peculiar look.

Jim squinted at him self-consciously, feeling a slow flush rising in his face from the scrutinization. "What?"

"I...I admit that I did not expect you to concede so easily," Spock said slowly, still eyeing him doubtfully.

Jim scowled reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah, I get that I can be a real ass sometimes, all right?"

"That ain't the half of it," McCoy muttered.

Jim glared at him irritably, but not completely without affection. "I'm saying that it was wrong of me to ask that much from you down there."

"So was it worth it?" McCoy suddenly asked, his expression oddly intent. "Did staying conscious help you..." The doctor frowned, searching for an appropriate description, "...ground yourself?"

Jim blinked slowly, suspicion seeping at the edges of his mind, but he answered honestly, "Hurt like hell...but, yeah, it did."

McCoy studied him for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusions he had drawn.

"Still," Jim added, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at Spock, "it still doesn't change the fact that you know things about me that I've never told anyone. And for that reason, I'm still pissed."

Spock seemed to consider this carefully before responding, "I understand that the consequences of the meld are far less than desirable, Captain, though I cannot say with complete confidence, considering the circumstances, that I regret my decision."

"What's he talking about?" McCoy demanded suspiciously.

Jim acknowledged him with a quick glance before returning his attention to his first officer. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're totally fine with this. I've got your memories up here, too, remember?"

"I admit that I do find it disconcerting," Spock responded, "however, it is not completely without its advantages."

"Hold on." McCoy looked between them blankly. "Memories?"

"You have only fixated on the negative aspects of such an exchange, Jim, without consideration of the potential benefits," Spock continued, disregarding the doctor.

Jim scowled belligerently. "What's there to be positive about? I've got a right to my own privacy, Spock-"

"Wait, are you two talking about that mind meld? What-"

"Later, Bones," Jim said forcefully, still glaring at Spock.

McCoy looked exceedingly frustrated. "Yeah, like that's not the first promise you've made-"

"Doctor," Spock broke in quietly, and he looked directly at McCoy for the first time during the exchange. "I assure you, this will all be explained to you at a more prudent time."

McCoy's frown deepened, but he subsided reluctantly, settling back against the wall and crossing his arms.

Spock hesitated, looking back at Jim. "While the situation is less than ideal, I believe it is in our shared interest to exploit it for, if nothing else, practical means. With some understanding of the other's background, it is likely that an increase of sixty percent in the efficiency of our professional rapport can occur."

Jim scoffed dismissively. "You know, there are seminars for this kind of thing that don't require intensive brain-diving."

Spock gave him a look that spoke volumes on how thoroughly he saw through Jim's blustering. "As I was saying, there are other advantages to this situation. As you have thus far refused to discuss the planetside events with either myself or Dr. McCoy, I am now able to glean somewhat of an understanding as to the reasons why you feel the need to avoid the subject. I cannot help but find myself concerned that you are attempting to suppress-"

"Suppress," Jim repeated, giving a short, mirthless laugh. "Like you're one to talk. You think meditation can help with something like this?"

"To be fair, Captain," Spock answered evenly, "you display multiple unhealthy tendencies yourself, based on the current circumstances."

"You're not," Jim said tiredly, his voice lowered consciously, "responsible for me. Not like that, Spock. Even if you're right...I don't need you to worry about me."

"Because you can take care of yourself, is that it?" McCoy cut in suddenly. "Hell, that's what you've done your whole life, isn't it?

"And so what if it is?" Jim retorted defiantly.

"You need to know you're not alone anymore, Jim." McCoy stepped closer, looking at him intently. "And whatever you're dragging yourself through now….you don't gotta do it on your own."

Jim remained silent, searching McCoy's expression for a long moment before looking away, giving a low huff of empty amusement in reply.

There was a long pause before any of them spoke again, and it was Spock who eventually broke the silence, encouraged by a slight nod from McCoy. "I trust that you will make the correct decision, Captain," he said, with a certainty that Jim found he couldn't quite dispute. He glanced up subtly at his first officer, then gave a silent nod and looked away again. Spock hesitated, watching him momentarily before reaching out and starting the lift once more.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, Jim staring contemplatively at the floor. The doors opened onto the bridge, and Spock moved to walk past Jim, who found himself suddenly saying, "Wait."

His first officer paused and looked up at him expectantly. Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I never did say...well, thank you. Both of you. For saving my life."

There was a moment in which McCoy and Spock blinked at him, then glanced at each other, before the doctor finally spoke, a wry smile twitching at his lips, "Seems to me that we're making a habit out of it these days, don't you think?"

Jim couldn't help the surge of relief he felt at those casual words. "Gotta keep you on your toes, Bones. We can't have you getting rusty on us."

Accompanied by McCoy's indignant splutters, Jim turned and strode onto the bridge, settling himself down in his chair with a casual familiarity. There was movement at the corner of his eye as Spock returned to his station, and he turned to meet his first officer's gaze, holding it for a thoughtful moment. Then, he gave a small nod, seemingly to himself, and swiveled back to face the front.

"Mr. Sulu!"

The pilot turned expectantly. "Yes, Captain."

"Prepare to set a new course," Jim responded, his voice strengthened by new resolve. "I've got some coordinates for you."

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**A/N: Since it's the holidays and all, we'll be taking a short hiatus, but expect to see us back by the New Year!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi, hope everyone had great holidays :) We're back with a new chapter, but we hope you enjoy this one. Feedback is appreciated as always, so don't hesitate to leave us a review! Thanks for reading :)**

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~Chapter VIII~

The _Enterprise _would be in position for the shuttle launch in sixteen minutes. The arrangements for the venture were well under way, and Jim had gladly left the red-clad engineers to the task of installing every safeguard measure into the vessel they could before the ship was in place. He had relocated to his quarters instead for a change of clothes and a moment of mental preparation, the latter swiftly becoming more difficult than he had imagined.

Jim stared at the wall blankly, noting with a faint sense of guilt that someone had cleaned up the mess he had made earlier with the whiskey. The bottle was gone, as well, and he suspected that either McCoy or Spock had removed it from his quarters at some point. They were annoying like that, his best friends, but he really had no idea how he'd get along without them keeping him on the right track. He scowled ruefully at the patch of empty carpet where the puddle had been, briefly regretting the burst of temper that had caused it, and turned his head to contemplate the globe.

He had sent Spock to organize the details of the landing and McCoy had bustled off to the medbay to prepare for the "harebrained jaunt on that death trap- and I'll never go anywhere without a cardiostimulator again, you hear," leaving him alone to his own thoughts.

Opening the globe had been easier the second time around, without the pressure of additional onlookers, and he now stared at the revolving red planet with the ever-flashing marker on its surface. The rest of the stars hadn't reappeared, and he wondered belatedly if triggering the Perseus code had caused an irreversible effect on the globe's programming. It'd be a shame; he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed-

Well, perhaps he wasn't quite ready to think about that yet. Jim stood from where he had been seated on his bed and crossed the room to look down at the planet, fancying that the beacon pulsed faster and brighter the closer the ship approached their destination. The hologram shivered as he passed a distracted hand through it, and he slashed through the planet vindictively before moving to close the globe.

"_Captain_," his wall comm crackled. "_Bridge to Captain Kirk._"

"Kirk here," he said absently.

"_Approaching destination, sir,"_ Sulu continued. "_ETA is ten minutes_."

"All right. Have Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy meet me in the hanger."

"_Yes, sir_."

Jim signed off the comm and checked his phaser holster before turning to survey his quarters one last time, shrugging on his dark leather jacket and giving it an absent tug. Everything in the room looked to be in order, everything neat and tucked away, and he left with only a vague sense of unease that he couldn't quite place.

The corridors were conspicuously void of off-duty crew members as he headed down through the mess and recreation levels, and he could hardly blame them. Any sane person would be doing the same after the scare with the life support and Cetus, which told him nothing about himself that he didn't already suspect.

He had met with Spock, McCoy, and a few other members of the senior crew in the Briefing Room to settle the details of the landing a couple of hours earlier. It would be night by the time they arrived, and so they had arranged for more climate-appropriate civilian gear. They would be taking a shuttle down to the surface, "in case your comms gets jammed by more ravin' madmen, sir," Scotty had reasoned pointedly. "We wouldn't want you stranded again."

This time, McCoy had also insisted that they be accompanied by two security detail, and Jim couldn't really find it in him to argue. He remembered all too well the humiliating ease with which he had been captured before.

Scotty was already running through the final diagnostics for the launch when Jim arrived at the hangar, tossing off a cheeky salute in his general direction. "She's up and runnin', Captain. Ready at your command."

Jim gave him a halfhearted smile. "Thanks, Scotty." He turned, glancing around the spacious shuttle bay. The two security were chatting quietly by the shuttle, Burns and Giles, he thought vaguely. Good men, handy in a pinch and good with following orders. Spock was impeccably early, of course, tapping away at a datapad beside the short gangway and looking paler than usual in the dark clothing the prep team had acquired for them. "Where's…"

Jim trailed off as McCoy stumbled into view, dressed in the same layered, protective civvies as Jim and Spock. It wasn't his new wardrobe that had Jim gawking disbelievingly, however, as the doctor staggered towards them. It was, rather, what he was attempting to carry with him. "Seriously, Bones?" he asked incredulously, exasperation mingling with affection.

McCoy squinted at him around the massive medical pack in his arms with a slightly hysterical gleam in his eyes. "You think I want to chance going through cardiovascular hell with you unprepared again? A man could go mad from that kind of stress."

"Evidently," Spock murmured, without taking his eyes off his PADD.

Jim blinked, thrown off guard for a moment, then shook his head and gestured at the pack helplessly. "I get the cardiostimulator, but what's all _this_? You got a defibrillator stuffed in there too?"

"Actually, yes."

"Come on, that's not really necessary-"

"Clearly, it is, Jim, if I'm gonna be tagging along with _you_," McCoy said slowly, as if Jim was missing the obvious. "And what the hell are we wearing, anyway?" He glared down at himself, clearly uncomfortable in his own attire, then squinted at Spock. "Makes you look like a ghoul."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's negative nine degrees Celcius down there, Bones. And we don't want any deranged megalomaniacs snatching us up again as soon as they spot our uniforms, do we? Honestly, you don't look that bad." He smirked, giving McCoy a deliberate once-over. "Like an advertisement for how-not-to-dress-in-your-thirties."

McCoy scoffed, "You're one to talk, Mr. James Dean over there."

"Who the hell is-"

"I don't think it suits you," McCoy interrupted, shuffling his bag in his arms awkwardly and giving Jim a carefully weighted look. "And I'm sure Spock agrees."

"I fail to understand the relevance of your assessment, Doctor, when it is evident that the captain's attire is solely intended for practical purposes," Spock said matter-of-factly, hardly looking up from his PADD.

"Exactly, Spock, _thank_ you," Jim smirked, pointedly zipping up his jacket.

"Yeah, you would say that, you contrary bastard," McCoy muttered under his breath. "You haven't even _seen_ him."

Spock raised an eyebrow in cool acknowledgment of the unspoken challenge and glanced up smoothly over the top of his PADD, scanning Jim with a critical eye.

"Speaking objectively, I believe that the captain possesses several physical traits considered to be aesthetically pleasing among his species. What is already present cannot be so easily detracted from by his mere choice of clothing," Spock finally said, and he looked back down at his work pointedly.

Jim grinned deliberately at McCoy as the doctor scowled at the Vulcan. "Well, I suppose there's no accounting for taste."

"It is only logical to state the truth, Doctor," Spock responded, glancing at McCoy with a detached sort of amusement. "I find you, for instance, to be somewhat subpar."

McCoy bristled with exaggerated indignation and Jim looked delighted. "And I suppose you're the epitome of Vulcan male perfection yourself?"

"As I am the only one of my particular genetic lineage, I can safely claim that I am indeed the prime example of virility of my race."

Jim let out a startled laugh. "He's got a point, Bones."

"I swear, the both of you, one of these days-"

"We're in position now, sir," Scotty called out, then rapped the skull of his assistant with his PADD. "And Berkeley here's gonna remember the proper disengager this time, wontcha? Ya don't want our beloved captain and co.'s brains turned inside out and liquefied in the great beyond, eh?"

"No, sir," mumbled the unfortunate Berkeley, flushing redder than his shirt as the two engineers headed for the control booth.

Jim cast a final glance at McCoy, who had paled significantly at the engineer's casual words, and moved to mount the gangway. Spock followed behind, ushering the reluctant doctor ahead of him as if wary that the man might make a break for it.

Burns and Giles were already seated at the pilot's helm, swiveling around and doffing salutes that Jim returned distractedly as he looked around at the passenger seats. "They're not so bad, Bones," he said, trying to lift the spirits of his clearly distressed friend. "Better than when we first met, huh?"

"Shut up," McCoy said tersely, stowing his pack into the storage unit beneath his seat and buckling himself into his harness with a grim determination.

Jim buckled himself in across from McCoy, grinning as Spock gingerly seated himself next to the doctor. "The shuttle was half your idea," he felt the need to point out.

"It was a good idea at the time," McCoy muttered, shifting in his seat apprehensively. "If they come at us guns a'blazing, just fly away, right? No need to worry about some damned intern cooling his heels and waiting to disassemble your molecules with the press of a button-" he stopped abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut and looking nauseous as he groped unconsciously for Spock's arm. "Oh, hell."

"Bones, we're still on the _ground_. Well, sort of-"

"Doctor," Spock said dryly, "I assure you that closing your eyes will not delay the inevitable launch of this shuttle."

McCoy pointedly ignored the unusual attempt at sarcasm, eyes remaining stubbornly shut as the final countdown began. After a moment of watching the spectacle, Jim took pity and reached for his inner jacket pocket for what he had taken to fondly thinking of as the Bones Cure-All.

Spock shifted in slight discomfort as McCoy's grip tightened substantially on his forearm. "Doctor, I would prefer it if you would properly utilize your armrest-"

"Here, Bones." Jim tossed the flask at McCoy and the doctor was startled enough to open his eyes and catch it, releasing Spock automatically. "Just like old times, huh?"

McCoy opened his mouth, but whatever words he might have said were drowned out by the muffled roar of the shuttle's thrusters. The floor shook noticeably beneath them, and McCoy abandoned his attempts at opening the flask in exchange for resuming his death grip on Spock.

The Vulcan let out a small, almost unnoticeable sigh, but Jim noted with a wry twitch of his lips that he didn't make a move to shake off McCoy.

The shuttle took off smoothly, and Jim watched through the wide windows as they propelled towards the planet below. As the red surface neared, he was suddenly struck with a faint sense of unease, apprehension stirring in his gut as the shuttle veered through the atmosphere. Twisting back in his seat, he caught a glimpse of the silvery hull of his ship through the small rear porthole and repressed the inexplicable urge to order the shuttle around immediately.

He concentrated instead on the incoherent muttering of McCoy, hunched miserably in his seat as he clung to Spock. The Vulcan had an air of long-suffering patience about him, but he held still throughout the launch, and McCoy visibly relaxed his grip in degrees as the shuttle descended into the craggy landscape, the flask lying forgotten in his lap. There was an intent expression on the doctor's face that jogged at Jim's memory then, a distant stare that focused on nothing of this world, and he found himself recalling the last time he'd seen something remotely similar.

_He was sixteen years old, and she was sitting on the porch steps outside. For a moment he thought she was watching the stars, but her head was angled straight ahead. When he sat down beside her, she didn't turn to look at him, and he realized with__ a lurch in his chest that she wasn't with him anymore. Hadn't been for some time, even when she was sitting close enough for him to lean over and brush her shoulder. He didn't, because he knew as well as she did that it wouldn't make a difference._

_It was a dry summer night, and he stared up at the silvery sky for a long moment before he finally spoke. "It's clear out tonight."_

"_Mm," she answered absently, and he knew she hadn't heard him. Or maybe she had. He didn't know which was worse, and chanced a look at her. She still wasn't looking at the stars, but she wasn't looking at him, either, and he couldn't remember the last time she had truly met his eyes._

"What's with you?" McCoy's voice cut in sharply, and Jim blinked**. **His friend, pale and wan, was squinting at him from across the tight aisle, one hand still clenched around Spock's wrist.

Jim stared at the two of them, and he surprised himself when he finally answered, albeit reluctantly. "She could never really look at them, you know. The stars, I mean. They reminded her too much of him." He felt Spock's eyes on him and looked away towards the window, his lips twisting in a dry, humorless smile. "Hell, I think _I_ reminded her too much of him sometimes."

"Approaching landing coordinates, Captain," Yeoman Giles called over the back of his seat before either McCoy or Spock could say a word, and Jim acknowledged the alert absently with a shallow nod, anxiety twisting in his chest again despite his attempts to quell it.

The shuttle landed with a jolt- "Hrrrngh," groaned McCoy, fumbling one-handedly for the flask again- and the thrum of the engines quieted as swirling clouds of dust settled on the windows in a thin layer of red.

"We've arrived, sir," Burns said redundantly, and McCoy mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath as he hastily unharnessed himself.

Jim unbuckled his own harness, pulling himself to his feet by the overhead handholds. "Excellent work, Yeoman. You two, secure a ten-meter perimeter around the shuttle. Be on the lookout for potential hostiles."

"Yes, Captain." The two men saluted and went dutifully to the shuttle hatch. Jim blinked as a cold wind swirled through the open hatch, creeping beneath his jacket and sending goosebumps along his arms. He caught a glimpse of moonlit ruins before the hatch closed, shadowy silhouettes touched by silver light. Then, he suddenly felt a staggering blow and halted, raising a hand to his throbbing chest. He hadn't moved, his other hand still gripping the support, and he realized with a tingling of trepidation that he couldn't move even if he tried.

Meanwhile, McCoy was heaving his bag out of the compartment, rummaging within and cataloguing the contents under his breath. Spock was assisting him, patiently holding an array of bulky instruments as the doctor muttered incoherently. At one point, McCoy looked up with intent to say something, then stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on Jim, the crease between his brows deepening in concern.

"Is it getting hot in here?" Jim asked uncertainly, his voice sounding too loud to his own ears. He tugged roughly at his collar, feeling a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. It had been cold just seconds ago, but now flashes of heat gripped him and his skin seemed suddenly too tight.

"Jim?" McCoy asked warily, but his voice was strangely distant… Jim blinked at him bewilderedly, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to say something, anything, to tell McCoy what was happening, and found with rising panic that he couldn't breathe.

He gave a wheezing cough, dropping his hand to grip the back of his seat for support. Black spots swam at the edge of his vision, a roiling sense of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. He felt a hand on his back- McCoy's- pressing high between the shoulder blades. "Jim? Jim, damn it, you need to calm down. It's all right- Spock, my tricorder-" There was a brief pause, a distant beeping that Jim barely heard through the sound of his own racing heartbeat, and a dim curse. "Kid, your blood pressure's going through the roof. You need to _breathe_, slow down-"

Jim coughed again, his mouth dry and his throat tightening with every second. He still couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight, and he wondered distantly if he was still even upright. His head was spinning, his pulse telling him that something was wrong, something bad was going to happen-

"Listen, Jim, I've got a hypo with me-" Jim shook his head frantically, fingers whitening on the edge of the seat. "I know, Jim, just hear me out," McCoy said, an edge of sternness entering his voice. "I've got a hypo, and it'll sort you out, but I'm not going to use it. You can do this on your own, kid, I know you can."

Jim gulped for air as his legs threatened to give out from under him. The sound of his gasps filled his ears, harsh and ragged with no real rhythm to speak of-

"Doctor," Spock said suddenly, stepping up to McCoy's side. "If you will allow me." He reached past the doctor without waiting for a response, brushing the man's hand aside and pulling down the zipper of Jim's jacket purposefully. He flipped open the sides of the garment, and Jim flinched slightly in shock as Spock's hand came to rest above his sternum.

McCoy looked on, baffled. "What are you-"

"Please, Doctor, you must trust me," Spock said, giving Jim's chest a firm push. Jim let loose a shuddering gasp, his eyes closing as his muscles began to gradually relax, the pounding of his heart stuttering to a slower tempo. Eventually, his grip on the seat loosened, blood flow resuming where it had previously been cut off, and he exhaled heavily.

"Well, I'll be damned," McCoy muttered, as Spock gave another short push and Jim took another straggling breath, the color slowly returning to his pale face as he calmed. Spock, noting the visible improvement in his condition, made to withdraw, and Jim's hand rose instantly to hold his arm in place, leaning his weight into Spock's palm almost instinctively.

Spock stilled, eyes rising to meet Jim's gaze inquiringly.

"Wait," Jim rasped in response, his eyes holding an unexpectedly pleading note. He suddenly hoped he didn't look as helpless as he felt, clinging onto someone else for help in a way that he never had growing up. He tightened his grip unconsciously on Spock's wrist, trying to convey what he couldn't bring himself to say, and, after a considerable pause, Spock inclined his head in a short nod, making no move to pull his hand away.

"As you are aware, Jim, this is not the first time I had assisted you in this manner." Spock eventually spoke, allowing his captain to contemplate his words before continuing, "Perhaps you should-"

"Wait, hold on," McCoy interrupted. "This happened before?"

"Once in the captain's quarters, prior to the hijacking of the ship's systems," Spock answered promptly, before Jim could refute the claim. Jim glared at him disbelievingly, recovered enough by now to be angry.

"Spock, damn it, you promised-"

"I do not believe I made an oath of any sort, Captain, and in any case, these are certainly extenuating circumstances," Spock responded shortly, and Jim stared at him wordlessly for a moment before dropping the Vulcan's arm, pulling away to lean against the wall defensively.

McCoy scowled, "You know, I'm a doctor for a _reason_, Jim. You should've come to me from the start. Post-traumatic stress disorder's not something you can just- just _shrug_ off!" Jim glanced away with mild guilt, and McCoy sighed, scratching the back of his head in frustration. "Look... whatever Spock just pulled there...you gotta see that that's not normal."

Spock continued on when McCoy seemed to trail off helplessly, "The doctor is correct in his assessment, Captain, however...I believe that recent events indicate that it is not exactly pain which you require."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked tersely.

Spock paused, carefully collecting his thoughts. "On the first occurrence, I suspected that pain was necessary in order to calm your bodily responses to the residuals of the stress it previously received, and I acted accordingly. However, just now, you responded just as positively to a stimulus that should not have elicited any pain." He hesitated before continuing, seemingly weighing his next words. "The fear you felt in the radiation chamber, what drove you to reach out...it was to seek contact, Jim. I see it clearly, perhaps more clearly than yourself, but it is not pain that reassures you. It never has been."

McCoy looked from Spock to Jim with rising confusion and disbelief, though the vague beginnings of comprehension were dawning on his face. Jim stared at Spock, his own uncertainty coming to light. "That doesn't make any sense. I've been touched before, but it didn't...it never felt the same way..."

"I do not wish to speak too freely of the matter at present," Spock broke in quietly, his eyes flickering to McCoy for a split second before returning to Jim warily, "but it is to my understanding that you did not have the kindest of childhoods, Jim. To a child under such circumstances, there is a fine distinction between pain and simple physical contact."

"You said it helped, earlier," McCoy said suddenly. "When I asked if being conscious during the CPR helped. You said yes, and I thought...well, I thought you were a bit touched in the head, to be honest, but I thought it was the pain you needed to...to feel safe, or what have you. But it isn't, is it? You just needed to know we were there with you."

Jim didn't respond, and McCoy worried briefly that he had pushed him too far, that he wasn't ready, but when the kid looked up again, his eyes were calm and resigned. "Even if what you're saying is true, there's nothing I can do about it, is there? I'm screwed up in the head, just like you said, I know that-"

"There's help for this kinda thing, Jim. All you ever had to do was ask." McCoy looked almost hurt before fixing on his customary frown. "We're your friends, aren't we?"

Jim studied him, taking in the doctor's jutted chin and stubborn scowl, then glanced at Spock for a lingering moment before dropping his eyes wryly to the floor, running a hand through his hair. "Well, you're both as crazy as I am, that's for sure. You'd have to be, to stay with me for this long."

McCoy huffed impatiently. "You idiot. The world's not all about you, you know. You ever think that we stick with you because we want to? That we think you're worth roaming the forsaken outreaches of space for because you're you?"

Jim looked away briefly, seeming unconvinced, and after a pause, McCoy's face softened slightly. "You're a good man, Jim," he said quietly. "You think I yell and fret over just anyone? And, hell, you should've seen Spock when we were trying to save you." The Vulcan started and looked strangely at the doctor, but said nothing.

"Spock?" Jim echoed, his eyebrow raising somewhat incredulously.

McCoy glanced at the Vulcan apologetically before he proceeded. "The thing is, he...he wouldn't let you go. And I take back everything I said about him being an unfeeling bastard after seeing him fight for you. He saved your life more than once that day, you know."

Jim looked over at his first officer with mingled disbelief and wonder, and Spock's eyes flicked to him briefly before resuming his valiant efforts to avoid Jim's gaze, despite the light green touching his ears.

McCoy hesitated, and then reached out, cuffing Jim's shoulder gruffly in a familiar gesture. "You're worth it, kid. Trust me."

Jim shook his head brusquely. "No, I...I can't, Bones." His shoulders slumped after the admission, his eyes closing briefly in weariness. "Pain...even if it's not what I need, like you say, it makes me feel...alive. Makes me feel strong, like I'm not a screw-up for once. But if I have to live from day to day needing to be touched like some kind of-" he cut himself off with a distressed grimace. "I can't be like that, Bones. I can't be weak."

"Fear is not a weakness, Jim," Spock said evenly, looking at him with an intent calmness. "It reassures the mind, invokes the survival instinct. Fear in moderation can be controlled."

Jim gave a short burst of mirthless laughter. "I can't _control_ it, Spock. I'm not like you, I can't just turn it on and off-"

"I believe I informed you once that your presumptions on that matter were incorrect when it concerns you," Spock cut in. "Perhaps you should endeavor to remember that."

Jim opened his mouth automatically, then stopped, temporarily stymied. A moment later, there was an abrupt knock on the shuttle hatch that made him flinch and caused McCoy to breathe a hasty curse. "Captain?" Giles' muffled voice rang through. "The perimeter's secure, sir."

"Be right out," Jim responded tensely. He pulled up the zipper to his jacket, concentrating on the feel of metal between his fingers as panic threatened to overwhelm his mind once more. His hand shook, and he forced the tremors to still as he straightened his clothes and took a deep breath.

Spock regarded him evenly for a moment, then reached out almost stiffly and grasped his arm. Despite the awkwardness of the gesture, Jim could feel the waves of buzzing fear and anxiety begin to quell down, receding into tolerable ripples beneath the surface of his mind.

"You don't have to do that, you know," he tried to say lightly. "I know it's not exactly easy for you."

Spock tilted his head slightly. "If my presence is necessary to your well-being, Captain, then naturally I would find no difficulty in the task."

"That wasn't a challenge, Spock, I'm_ serious_," Jim responded exasperatedly.

"As am I, Jim," Spock countered.

Jim stared at him for a couple of seconds, then gave a soft snort of amusement. "You know, I never thought I'd actually miss you ignoring me. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to be protective." There was no malice behind his words, though, and the corner of Spock's mouth twitched suspiciously in response.

"Then perhaps initiating friendship with me was not the wisest of your decisions," his first officer agreed solemnly, "as Vulcans' emotions are more amplified than your own."

"What's that mean?"

Spock paused. "It...it is not an aspect of our culture that we find easy to disclose to outsiders, you must understand. The strength of our emotions is what eventually led my people to their suppression. Without proper limitations, the disproportionate intensity would be...destructive to other races than my own."

"You bond for life, don't you," McCoy said, but it wasn't quite a question. "So when you love, you love deeper. When you feel friendship, you..."

Spock inclined his head reluctantly. "There is an illogical quality to the endurance of the relationships we forge that centuries of technique have been unsuccessful in terminating. As a result, the favor of a Vulcan is difficult to earn, but when it is..." his eyes flitted briefly to the doctor, then settled on Jim, "it is one that is guaranteed to last."

There was a heavy moment after he finished speaking in which the other two men were notably subdued, McCoy working his jaw with a distinct awkwardness as if restraining himself from making an offhand remark and Jim watching Spock with a quiet thoughtfulness.

The doctor broke the silence first, clearing his throat and fiddling with the straps of his bag. "We should get out there, don't you think? Might have those two worried, keeping them waiting this long."

Spock nodded in agreement, and Jim moved past them to open the hatch. The wind caught him off guard instantly, cold tendrils creeping down the back of his collar and tugging at his sleeves. Above them, the sky was dark, the heavy atmosphere too dense to see the stars, and the waning moonlight did little to alleviate the anxiety Jim was still struggling to keep at bay.

The ruins were masked in a deeper, more ominous darkness, crooked shards jutting up from the horizon, and pale shadows flickering eerily on the shifting dust like vanishing ghosts. Jim squinted, shielding his face with a spray of stinging sand as the wind abruptly shifted directions, and joined Burns and Giles by the nose of the shuttle. Giles had his jacket collar turned up against the wind, frowning down at the beeping device in his hand.

"We've got an unidentified object two hundred meters northeast of our location, Captain," the yeoman said, squinting in the general direction indicated by the radar. "Thought we'd check for confirmation before scoping it out, sir."

"Here, give me that," Jim said tersely, plucking the radar from the man's hand. "You two, guard the shuttle. Any unfriendlies show their faces, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir," came the replies, and Jim gestured for Spock and McCoy to follow before trudging out farther into the clinging darkness.

Nobody spoke as they walked, and Jim was glad for the silence. He listened instead to the crunching of their footsteps, the whistling of wind through broken walls and narrow alleys. Occasionally, there was a scuttle of night life in the ruins that he paid little attention to, focusing more carefully on where he placed his feet on the uneven ground.

The wavering shadows swung elusively before them, disguising the rubble buried in the gentle swells of gathered sand and dust. Jim heard McCoy stumble behind him more than once, usually followed by a muffled curse and the sounds of Spock patiently straightening him, and he felt a faint stir of gratitude for their presence.

The pulsing dot on the radar blanked out every so often when he turned or stopped too abruptly, resulting in the trio moving at a cautious pace through broken arches and fallen towers. Spock resulted to alerting Jim twice to an impending collision with a wall or column, so closely was he watching the screen in his hands.

It wasn't until they were ten meters away that it truly struck Jim what was about to happen. What, he suddenly wondered, was he supposed to say when he saw her? How could simple words explain more than twenty years of despair, wondering if he wasn't good enough, hating himself for being alive because _she _hated him?

Would she even remember?

He stopped walking. "We're here."

They stood in a small clearing in what might have been a city square of some kind once. There were faded cobblestones underfoot, high craggy walls surrounding them and dark windows peering down like the hollow sockets of the lifeless city. The wind howled distantly through shattered eaves and empty doorways, sending chills down Jim's spine that he realized had little to do with the coldness of the night.

McCoy shuffled his feet, looking around once more uneasily. "Jim...there's nothing here." _No one_, were the unsaid words.

Jim bit his lip, hope and dread tangling in his chest and tightening his fingers around the device. "No, this is it. This is the place."

"Captain," Spock started, and Jim raised a hand suddenly to stop him. "Did you hear that?" he asked, his voice hushed.

There was another quiet chirp, and he circled around the crumbled remnants of a lonely fountain. Behind the broken wall sat a small circular machine tucked into the top of a pile of gravel, its sleek black form in complete contrast to its rough surroundings. Jim looked down at it, feeling a pounding of warring emotions in his chest that he couldn't identify.

He dug the device out and held it in his palm. It was heavier than it looked, with a small silver indentation in its center on both sides.

"Jim?" McCoy asked quietly from behind him. Jim wasn't sure what expression he wore now, but he felt…still, frozen, as he turned back towards them.

"Let's go," he said, his voice sounding strangely subdued to his own ears.

"But, what about-"

"She's not here," he said shortly, striding back towards the shuttle. "If she was ever here, she'd be long gone by now." The device had been covered with a thin film of dust when he picked it up, too much to have accumulated over one night. He hadn't seen this particular model in many years, had actually thought them to be obsolete by now, but he recognized it for the hologram projector it was.

He felt a dull throb of disappointment, so interlaced with conflicting relief that he was completely uncertain as to what he truly felt. Maybe, Jim thought, he really wasn't ready for it at all. He hefted the disk in his hand absently, suspecting, with the same tangled knot of accompanying emotions, that he would be seeing his mother again in some form or fashion.

And it would be very soon.

..


End file.
